


Hyacinths

by iamnotawizard



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, LMAO, M/M, Unrequited Love, a lil bit of blood and vomms u know how it is beware, bro bro we're gonna talk about feelings, cuss words, repressed bullshit, sorry for rpfing, yall know this is gonna have a happy ending is2g
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-05 16:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16814365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotawizard/pseuds/iamnotawizard
Summary: Shane falls in love and no matter what he does, his lungs won't stop sprouting flowersRyan just wants his friend to be okay





	1. no substitutes

Maycie invites their little Test Friends crew to do the friendly duty of pitching in and helping with the organization of her wedding. Taste testing the menu, and giving their input on table setting, decorations, flowers. Although no Steven Lim, Ryan had agreed to come when cake tasting was brought up and as in all things the big guy is on the same wavelength, his sleepy eyes lighting up at the mention of cakes. Both of them excited at the prospect of getting some chow as well as celebrating their mutual friends occasion.

So come next Saturday Daysha, Jen and the boys are picking apart the example bouquets on display, champagne glasses hanging from their fingers, while Maycie has gone to the back of the boutique to fuss over one thing or another. 

“Shouldn’t we go over there and help her?” Jen asks, nodding at Maycie, who’s gotten in a spirited discussion with the attendant over silverware. Fourth such topic in the last hour.

“Nah, it’s the wedding nerves.” Daysha says taking a sip from her glass and smiling at her conspirationaly. “Just let her work out that nervous energy on people that she pays for it.” Shane snorts.

“Best we can do for her is tell her witch flower arrangement we like so she can pick the exact opposite. Speaking of, Ryan, you’re very intense there, what do you think?”

Ryan is indeed intently inspecting a lovely tropical looking bouquet, large white flowers framed by smaller, leafier light green ones and various other plants and leaves he wouldn’t know the name of even if put under duress.

“This one is real fancy. What are the white flowers called?” Ryan asks.

“They’re lilies, I think,” Jen pipes up, “my mom loves them.”

“They’re very pretty. Pity they don’t smell though. What’s the use if they don’t smell nice.”

“What’s your favorite flower then, Ryan?” Daysha turns to Ryan.

Before he can answer, Shane injects with sort of a resigned confidence. 

“Let me guess, it’s hyacinths.”

“Yeah, that’s actually it. I like the scent. How did you know?”

Shane’s smile is a little glassy when he looks at him, his eyes not actually smiling. Ryan spends a disproportionate time with the Sasquatch, majority of it spent smiling and laughing like loons at each other. He should know when his best friend’s smile is real or not.

“Just a hunch,” said as a sigh

Huh. Weird.

They shift to a different topic as Maycie returns and Ryan dismisses the strangeness of that exchange. Shane’s a strange guy, Ryan doesn’t bother to detangle his moods.

...

Life carries on. Ryan is enjoying his friend’s company, goofy bunch as they are, and his work. His girlfriend moves in with him, he starts doing Unsolved with Brent. Then Brent has to leave for other projects and when he asks, Shane steps into his role with a laugh, little convincing needed. Unsolved becomes a hit with the audiences. 

Shane doesn’t let up being relentlessly weird, which Ryan has to grudgingly admit is one of the factors for the shows ever increasing success, his irreverent little quips going a long way to gentle the often times grim subject matter they tackle.

And if he’s being really honest, it’s a factor in their friendship working as well as it does too. Deep down Ryan’s pretty weird guy himself, now when he’s gotten out of high school and college it really shines with the nearly obsessive passion he throws himself into things he loves, be it basketball, horror movies or true crime. It’s nice to have someone who loves things with as much of reckless abandon. Shane is unapologetically weird.

...

That is, Shane doesn't stop being weird until one day he does, becoming perhaps weirder if that was possible.

It happens soon after Sallie House. Shane takes half a week off work. Nothing strange in that, the leave of absence was scheduled and it raises no red flags for Ryan. 

But on his return the following Monday Shane’s changed. 

Maddeningly it seems that Ryan is the only one noticing something's amiss.

Shane has become colder. It used to be so when Shane smiled at Ryan, it was alike being submerged in a bona fide Californian sunbeam. Now they still joke around, but the smiles Ryan gets in return have an underlying sad slant. 

With distress Ryan notes that Shane no longer stands as close to him as he used to, no more invaded personal space, less of the broish half-hugs they sometimes do. It’s as if Shane’s drawing the tendrils of his warm presence back into himself. Ryan realizes it’s something he’s always had since meeting him and had taken for granted. He feels desperate to have them back around him.

At the time Ryan is half-seriously considering a theory that the cause of this might be possession. 

He spends two weeks keenly staring at Shane from across rooms, dissecting his every move and muttering things like “come on you demon fuck i see you” and “don’t think i don’t know about you” under his breath.

It all culminates when Ryan has slipped holy water in Shane’s drinks on multiple occasions with no results whatsoever (he’s still deeply ashamed about doing that and will take that shame to his grave). Asking some truly suspect questions to their acquaintances around the office about noticing any strange behaviour from Shane similarly reaps no evidence to his theory, except making them look strangely at Ryan like he’s the one acting as if replaced by a visitor from outer space (theory Nr. 2) or lizard creature(theory Nr. 6).

Alas, the evidence has spoken and Ryan is rational man. He has to accept the fact that maybe nothing is wrong and maybe he’s reading too much in their situation, reading too much in his relationship with Shane. 

It smarts his feelings a little bit.

He deals with it.

Soon afterwards Sara and Shane start dating. A new normal is established and they carry on.

…

Helen moves out of Ryan’s apartment.

He’s crushed. They still talk sometimes, no bad feelings there. Life is life and sometimes you have to choose career over a relationship. Neither of them are willing to sacrifice their work. So. They part. 

Ryan has his own work, he has Unsolved in which he throws himself full throttle. He has his friends and his fans and a loving family just an hours drive away.  
And if he starts third wheeling his best friend and his girlfriend. It’s no big deal, Shane says so, with an affectionate hair ruffle and a smile that either has started returning to it’s previous luminosity or Ryan’s tolerance just has been lowered by the doleful ones he’s gotten so far.

Either way, Ryan grumps over his ruined hair, the smile he hides in his collar too big to safely show the world.

He can deal with this as well.

…


	2. of [allegedly] haunted bathrooms

They’re on location in another 19th century haunted house. This time a particularly violent poltergeist and it’s chatty posse of spirits are allegedly inhabiting the wooden affair. 

Wooden it is, producing spectacular creaks to the detriment of Ryan’s fraying nerves. A cherry on top the nightmarish cake of gothic architecture and promise of active ghosties is a thunderstorm, producing a steady downpour and the occasional lazy roll of thunder in the distance.

It had been brewing the whole day, ever since they crossed the state border a grey and downcast sky had been their constant companion.

Nevertheless the whole crew had fun thus far. Devon had managed to wrestle the radio rights from Shane halfway through the trip, when Ryan acquitted the driving duties to Teej. Him and Shane squeezing in the back seat, opposite Mark who, as is custom, had elected to ignore all of them in favor of his knitwork. Devon moved to the shotgun seat and cut off Shane’s music choice of crooning bearded white guys, instead putting on something lighthearted that makes Ryan’s feet tap. The mood had lightened a little bit.

They had chatted and bantered front to back. Ryan hadn’t been able to resist beaming at Shane like an imbecile when a good joke landed and he felt like floating when Shane mirrored him, his own smile scrunching up his eyes helplessly. 

There’s a quiet moment. A lull in the conversation, Katy Perry enthusiastically singing about running away and never looking back. Shane, eyes closed and head reclined, let’s out a sigh.

Ryan jostles him with his shoulder, “You alright man?”

Shane rolls his head towards him, all bleary eyes and wild hair. He’s a little bit haggard looking, the past few weeks been rough on him and it’s visible. 

When Ryan asks about it Shane deflects by saying he’s been sleeping poorly and steadily refuses to acknowledge that anything is wrong.

The thing is, he’d broken up with Sara. The whole incident was sudden, they had seemed so happy until one morning Sara’s visibly mad at Shane but at the same time oddly tender and touchy with him, Shane looking like a kicked puppy. 

And Ryan tries to be a good friend, makes a whole speech about the merits of bachelordom, reassures that he’ll get over it, tries to put his mind off of things by hanging out more. After all, Shane had been there for Ryan’s own breakup. 

Shane had cut of his frankly convoluted speech and boneheadedly pretended nothing’s wrong, like his feelings hadn’t been hurt. Ryan had been expecting an emotional breakdown any day now. Instead Shane seemed to have slid into a state of constant understated of misery.

So one can’t really blame Ryan for feeling a surge of joy when his best friend seemed to enjoy himself for once. He tries his best to drag Shane kicking and screaming back into to the moment.

“What’s all the sighing for?” he asks again

Shane takes in his face for a moment, then smiles a little at him.

He turns his face back towards the car’s ceiling and thinks for a moment, casting about for something to say. Ryan frowns, can feel that another deflection is coming.

“Do these houses ever blur together in your mind?” he finally asks. “I mean, they’re all old, all had grisly things happen in them. Seems kinda formulaic after a while.”

Ryan fights hard to not get defensive, yet a spark of a familiar anxiety comes alive. He works hard on Unsolved, going over topics that are close to his heart, therefore, when someone says those topics are boring, he can't’ help but take it personally. 

Shane must know this, what Ryan doesn’t get is why he’s being such an asshole about it.

The moment drags on as Ryan mulls over his brooding thoughts, and Shane must have felt the shift in the mood.  
“Sorry, I didn't mean to imply that the episodes are no fun,” he starts again, gentler this time, “They’re good. You’re doing good. Don’t listen to the ol’ skeptic”

Shane rubs at his chest absent mindedly and Ryan rallies as to not let the mood hit the floor entirely.

“Well this one is really not like the others,” he says in as cocky a tone as he can manage.

“Oh? Well then spill the tea”

Ryan usually saves the stories for the camera, but this time can’t resist launching a narration that’s half pulled from the script, half improvisated to keep it fresh. He throws in a few bits and pats himself on the back every time he manages to pull a laugh from Shane. Each feels like an accomplishment. 

...

When they reach the house and get out of the van the rain’s not so bad. It’s has become a steady drizzle that sets a lovely ambience for the shoot. The don’t tarry long on doing the outside shots on the account of it, instead launching the investigation on the house.

For the chagrin of him and his boogaras it turns out that they don’t see much action in the house. A few EMP readings that might or might not be something is their only bounty tonight. So Shane ups the ante on his taunts for the ghouls and Ryan is absurdly grateful for that. The resulting jokes and the truly first class spooky vibes of the house would be meaty enough to make for an entertaining episode. 

It is towards the end that Shane starts to visibly flag. In the poor lightning he looks more pale and drawn than is usual. Ryan notices that the poor guy has been trying to hold in coughs for the entire trip, he must have fallen ill at some point and been trying to not ruin the sound of the episode. Now the strain of keeping himself silent has obviously taken a toll on him. No wonder he’s been looking like shit lately, going down with a cough on top of his breakup. Ryan feels bad for him and puts a comforting hand onto his shoulder.

“Dude, if you’re feeling under the weather, you should have said so. We probably have some lozenges in the car or something.”

Shane ducks from under his hand, not looking at him, and excuses himself to the restroom with a mumble.

Ryan frowns at his back as he goes.

...

Letting Shane go alone in this haunted nightmare of a house sits wrong with Ryan, so after exchanging a look with Tej, he soon follows Shane, just to make sure if what he’s coming down with isn’t something serious.

Traversing the long dark hallways without his co-host and camera crew at his back is not an ideal situation for Ryan. He quickens his pace and arrives at the second story restroom in somewhat frenzied state.

He raps at the door nervously and calls out, “Shane, you okay there?”

At first there’s no answer, only the sound of retching and more coughing, until a wrecked voice responds,

“Jesus Christ Ryan, just give me a fucking minute,”

None of those sounds are encouraging in the least. Out there in the dark hallway Ryan feels uneasy, as if there’s something in the shadowy nooks of the house that’s observing him. He wants to not be in the hallway alone, to make sure Shane is okay, then get them both back to the crew. Safety in numbers and all that.

“Shane, I’m coming in,” he turns the doorknob and barges in

“No, wait-”

and freezes.

The first thing Ryan picks out is red. There is a primal instinct in the human brain that makes you immediately pick up on that color, a flashing sign that screams “Blood! Danger must be nearby”. So he freezes up, stunned. 

Then other details solidify in his view. The red bits, in the toilet bowl, not actual blood but small flowers he now notices, not many but the color combined with the oppressive smell of them and bile creates a horrifying scene. Shane hunched by the toilet, pale and sweaty, lips stained crimson, the man closes his eyes in resignation, trying to obstruct Ryan’s vision useless at this point. The truth is plain. 

Ryan’s mind is bucking, still unwilling to understand what he’s seeing. Blossoms. Blood. There’s really only one conclusion to arrive to.

Everyone knows about the condition. It’s this romantic deeply rooted notion in the collective consciousness of the society. Suffering caused by unfulfilled love. Some of the greatest literary works of romance and tragedy have been written with the Hanahaki disease as the central focus. It was the bread and butter for drama loving authors like Shakespeare, he poetic nature of flowers and doomed love bringing death wholly irresitable.

Ryan remembers middle school, when they had read The Great Gatsby, all the girls oohing and aahing forlorny over the futility of such love, as if it was somehow more meaningful that way.

Ryan had never understood the obsession over that. He had a big heart and never shied away from expressing the love he felt for his dearest people, be it family, ar at one point his girlfriends. Why something so wholesome as care for other people should bring suffering?

As much as its rehashed in media, he had always thought that the condition was a myth, not much different than one of his more unbased conspiracy theories. Sure, he heard here and there about someone who either claimed to have overcome the disease one way or another, or had perished from lung damage. He used to be so sure that most of those were just telltales. The one theory he had refused to seriously entertain.

And yet here they are. His closest friend, gone timid and in clearly in pain, on the floor while Ryan tries to wrangle his brain out of the cold terror he’s feeling, trying to come up with anything at all to say.

There’s a long moment of silence. Ryan keeps staring but Shane is unwilling to meet his eyes. 

The train of his thoughts picks up speed, the dawning horror over the realization his friend might just die, takes back seat as he arrives at the bargaining station smashing onwards. He blindly races through the list of every female acquaintance they know, looking for an answer, a solution.

“Is it Devon?” it comes out if his mouth almost accusingly, without any preamble.

Shane weakly shakes his head, expression pinched.

“Who else… is it- ?” Ryan fists his own hair in distress, “come on, is- is it’s Sara? Was it because she broke it off? You can you talk this out with her, no? I thought it was a mutual thing? Why did this happen, I’m sure you can figure something out, salvage the whole ...thing, you know. I don’t- I-”

When Shane interupts him, his voice low and scratchy.

“Ry, you’re babling,” Shane wipes his mouth, and hauls himself back standing, “It’s neither. Just... leave it be.”

He turns his back to Ryan, spits one last blossom in the toilet bowl and goes about flushing it, cleaning up his face and hands at the sink. Ryan notices him wiping flecks of red from his lips. The cold feeling in the pit of his stomach sinks deeper at the how casual, practiced the movement is.

“Besides, those are some awfully heteronormative assumptions you’re making there,” he turns back to him with a grin, an attempt at levity.

It would have looked less wretched had his eyes not been red rimmed and the bathroom still smelling oppressively, sweetly of flowers and copper.

Ryan’s thoughts skip a track and he blinks. So his previous list of “suspects” needs updating. Okay, no big, he can deal with that. 

“How long..?” his voice is a hushed wobble at this point. 

Shane drops his grin.

“Ryan,” he growls warningly.

They stand like that for a while, neither willing to back down, Ryan still too shell shocked to come up with anything to say.

Shane shoulders past him out of the bathroom, leaving Ryan with his thoughts.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ryan: "shane u ok?"  
> ryan: "u ok?"  
> ryan: "U OK?"  
> shane: ✓ read 12.38 AM


	3. idle minds and other devil's playthings

This time making his way back form the bathroom Ryan’s too distraught to even consider the potential threat of spirits and ghouls lurking in the old house's hallways and stairwells. He’s lucky he doesn’t trip on the one of the many roted bits of carpeting in his state of inattention.

When he reenters the main room where the crew has assembled, Shane’s chatting with Teej as if he hadn’t been puking his guts out not even three minutes prior. He throws Ryan a wary glance, eyebrow raised, as if to caution to hold his tongue. Then turns back to the conversation just like that.

Ryan huffs. He is just as stubborn as his co-host, even more at times. The hours upon hours of video evidence on the internet a testament to that. Ryan feels owed a conversation.

He pulls Shane aside by the wrist, halting whatever discussion was happening between the two, the whole room taking notice that something is up. Discomfited by the full attention Devon and Teej are now paying them, unabashedly and obviously trying to eavesdrop. Mark doesn’t look like any earthly happening could divert his attention from the camera he’s fiddling with, but looks are deceiving, he’s a surprisingly observant guy. Ryan whispers at Shane, voice low and anxious.

“Do you want to wrap up early? We got enough footage by now,” he’s still mad about the dismissal but it’s nothing compared to the heavy worry like a blanket over everything else. He grips Shane’s wrist tighter, tries to physically pull some honesty from him.

No dice.

“What are you talking about, I’ve never been more ready to meet some ghouls. Let’s go Ryan,” the bastard doesn’t even bother lowering his voice instead adopting a loud and obnoxious tone, withdrawing from his grasp.

They continue the shoot, the crew noticing but keeping blessedly silent on their decidedly irregular behavior. Ryan’s distracted, barely able to string together a sentence without stammering and Shane’s getting increasingly annoying, talking fast and loud, as if filled with nervous energy. The last hour of their footage is rubbish, most likely to be cut from the episode.

When they finally wrap up Ryan is feeling his customary relief but this time for reasons unrelated to the paranormal nature of their location. They haven’t arranged to stay the night on location this time. Ryan’s antsy the whole ride to their hotel. It becomes apparent to him that Shane is going to do his most to avoid talking to Ryan about what he witnessed in the haunted house. He begins to wish they really had spent the night in ghost house which would have at least afforded him the opportunity for a one on one conversation with the guy.

He’ll have to corner him in the hotel then. This is getting absurd.

Just as they park by the hotel, Shane’s out of the van like a shot. Ryan legs after him, leaving the crew to deal with the cameras and bags alone. There will be hell to pay come morning but right now Ryan has more important matters to take care of.

He catches up to Shane when he’s unlocking his door. Both their rooms adjacent to another.

Shane stop fiddling with his keys when he senses Ryan’s arrival. He rests his forehead against the door, the tall line of his spine bowed.

“What do you want Ryan,”

“What do you mean, “What do you want”!” Ryan explodes, “You’re fucking dying! And you didn’t even think to tell me? What’s the plan here,what are you thinking, that, that this is something- oh I’m the great Shane Madej, ghosts and demons can’t touch me and neither can an apparently _real fucking_ disease!” he has to stop and take a breath in what seems like the first time since he entered that bathroom uninvited.

“It does seem like such bullshit though,”

“Cut the crap!”, Ryan snaps.

Shane pauses.

“Ryan please. Just- for my sake and yours, let it rest. I’m gonna deal with this, I promise. Can we carry on like we used to. Before… what you saw.”, Shane swallows and finally, finally meets his eyes.

And Ryan doesn’t want to agree, can’t agree. He’s never been able to leave anything unpoked. He stays silent, stares at Shane until the eye contact becomes uncomfortable. Until Shane seems to take it as acquittance, slots the key in his door and closes the door behind him leaving Ryan in the corridor all alone.

Ryan reluctantly moves to his own room, settles on his bed. He can’t sleep that night. He imagines he can hear Shane coughing behind the thin hotel walls. Maybe he actually does. Very little of reality registers to him that night, his brain is stuck on loop thinking one sentence over and over again in different variations.

He doesn’t want Shane to leave him alone, anywhere. Ever.

…

It turns out he’s not able to sleep much most nights, after.

They return to L.A. the next day, everyone’s doing their damndest to act as if the tension between the two Unsolved hosts doesn’t exist. It’s all very polite, courteous. When it’s approaching midnight in Ryan’s empty apartment, he lays in bed sleepless, sick of it all.

All that accursed politeness.

Shane’s being forcibly cheerful, but now that his secret is out it’s hard to ignore. Ryan feels like those months, a year?, back when he was convinced Shane’d been possessed. He watches with hawk like attention, and sure enough, the big guy isn’t hiding his physical distress that well when you know the signs to look for.

He could beat his head against a wall, over how he never managed to notice all the little signs, a mystery unfolding. Shane’s been sucking on cough drops constantly, vanishing into bathrooms or secluded corners on a regular pattern, always returning a little bit more pale, a little bit soggy along the edges.

Ryan gets a hunch that perhaps the reason Shane is not doing hotdaga this season is for the sake of preserving his already abused throat.

Ryan watches and Shane deflects and they bumble along.

Ryan takes to bringing Shane tea with honey, he reads that it can soothe damaged throat. Everytime he hands a cupful to Shane it earns him a grateful smile, genuine and squinty eyed. These days the smile causes a pathetic little twang in his chest, not dousing his ever present worry in the least.

He reads other stuff too. He uses his recent bouts of anxiety based insomnia to do research. About Hanahaki, about treatments and procedures available. It’s pretty grim stuff.

He considers other options as well.

Returns to his harebrained first instinct of making a list of people Shane might have a romantic interest in. Emphasis on the _people_ part now.

Knowing Shane the bit about him being into guys as well as girls could have been a joke. He’s big on subverting assumptions and making you feel silly for assuming in the first place. And yet it’s too crucial a puzzle piece to ignore.

So he lists all the people Ryan knows Shane knows, debates the probability of him being into any of them and just as promptly dismisses them all.

He sighs and rubs his eyes. The clock on his phone says it approaching four in the morning. He has to get up in two hours if he plans to make it to the gym today. An even heavier sigh escapes him. He’s really not looking forward to working out on little to no sleep.

It’s just too long of a list. He can’t realistically be expected to make trough it with any sort of accuracy. And he’d really like to get at least some sleep sometime soon.

He’ll have to talk to Sara.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my one bookmarker (u know who u are) i love uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu


	4. primo detective work mr. bergara

Bergara is a man on a mission today. He had skipped the gym in order to catch some four hours of sleep, which, the way his life had been going recently, was basically a full night's rest. He’s in top form when he arrives at the office a little late and immediately makes a beeline towards the kitchen.

He's clutching a fresh mug of coffee by the time Shane lopes in, offers him a gravelly “mornin’” and busies himself with making tea. 

Ryan brings the coffee mug to his face, pretends the wall of steam hides him from the rest of the room. He scrutinizes Shane. It's become his habit as of late. He watches as the gangly guy picks out a mug, then rummages in the cupboards sifting through a large box of teabags, sorting the artisanal ones from the old boring earl grey ones. 

They're alone in the kitchen by now. Unwanted sense of awkwardness creeps upon Ryan. He studiously keeps watching Shane’s hands, long fingers working open the tea sachet and untangling the teabag’s string.

“What’s got your eyes bugging out today Ryan. This kitchen haunted?” Shane quips at Ryan while he’s distracted. “Something I should be aware of?”

With great difficulty Ryan pulls his eyes away from Shane’s hands, focusing on his face instead as he finishes steeping his tea.

“Nah, only a Sasquatch raiding the pantry, but that’s nothing new,” he quirks a smirk, the expression feels a little rusty. It’s an old barb, worn with use, they’ve traded variations of it a dozen times, but Shane doesn’t seem to mind. For now it’s enough to melt the tension between them. He perks up and for a few minutes everything is alright again. They stand there leaning against the counters chatting idly about things inconsequential, sipping their respective drinks.

Ryan laughs sharply as Shane launches in one of his nonsensical tangents.

Then Shane’s face goes taut mid-sentence and he nearly doubles over, his body wracked by an unexpected convulsion. Ryan immediately steps forward arm outstretched, but is waved off. Shane straightens back up and pulls a a tissue from his pocket, covering his mouth with it. 

The warm moment of respite is over, worry slams back into Ryan with a vengeance. Shane reads it from his face. 

“Okay Ry, enough slacking, back to work it is,” he claps his free hand on Ryan’s shoulder, winks and promptly leaves. Ryan doesn’t miss him turning towards the restrooms in a hurried pace instead of back to their tablespace. He exhales into the remnants of his coffee ruefully.

…

Ryan exits the kitchen with a renewed sense of purpose. After that conversation he feels lighter than he has in days. He has been reminded what he stands to lose, his eyes are on the prize now. Shane’s his friend, and Ryan is going to help him no matter what.

Incidentally, Shane’s current distraction is the best moment for Ryan to ambush Sara for information.

He zips to Sara’s table, bless her dedicated nature, she’s typing at her own desk instead of prancing around one of the video studios. It would have been bothersome to find her otherwise.

He’s considered whetever Sara would have been in the know about Shane’s condition. She must be. They had lived together, she literally would have been the first one to learn of it. Still he decides to be careful.

He approaches her purposefully and clears his throat. She looks up from her screen with a startled expression, which turns… agitated? on recognizing him.

“Sara, can I have a word?”

“What about,” her hand immediately finds a spare pencil lying on her desk, bringing it to her teeth to worry at it. It’s an endearing if easy to read nervous tick she has.

Ryan gets the sense that he’s been expected, which forebodes nothing good.

“It’s about Shane,” he shrugs.

Sara stares at him measuring, then nods.

“Of course it is. Let’s go talk in the courtyard, yeah?”

…

It’s not yet time for the lunch rush so the courtyard is empty, when they both step out into it. Sara leads them to a picnic bench and they take sides facing each other.

They soak in the warmth of the morning, yet to assume the dry quality it gets when baked by a midday sun. Ryan is all fired up, itching to get to the matter at hand but forces himself to still. Waits until Sara feels comfortable talking.

“So,”

“So,”

“He told you then. I thought he wasn’t going to,”

That answers that question then.

Ryan grimaces, “He haven’t told me anything. I just stumbled on his… situation on accident,”

“Oh Ryan...”

The pity in her words rankles Ryan, and at the same time all of this has been a lot. The sympathetic tone makes something crumble in him. He knuckles the inner corners of his eyes, a suspicious sting behind them. 

He takes a moment to collect himself, he’s here to fulfil a task not find a shoulder to cry upon.

“Do you...” the words refuse to leave his mouth. He’s struck with how weird and inappropriate asking a woman about her ex-boyfriend’s other possible romantic interests is. God forbid asking if her ex might be into guys.

Ryan flushes and grimaces again, with a lot more feeling this time. Takes a bracing breath.

“Ryan?”

“Isthiswhyyousplit?” the most direct way is trough.

Sara face does something odd. Her lips thin in an unhappy line. Too blunt, Ryan mentally kicks himself.

“I wasn’t going to stay with someone who doesn’t care about me like i do about them,” she says, “the worst thing is, I can’t even be mad about it, not really.”

Ryan gets it. He had still harbored a faint hope, that Sara might be the one Shane had been broken up about, since trying to get those two to make up would have been perhaps the easiest solution to the problem they’re having. After all Shane’s truthtelling record hadn’t been particularly clean since this whole thing started, his doubt wasn’t unfounded. Ryan sighs, he’d had been prepared for this, time to switch to other options.

He reaches over the table to take her hand. He realizes he’d sort of taken Shane’s side after the break up. Not in an overt way, they’re still colleagues and friends, but he hadn’t been talking to Sara much lately, hadn’t acknowledged that she’d been hurting too.

“Hey,” he tries to smile at her encouragingly.

“I’m sorry this is so awkward,”

She sniggers at that, “Don’t worry, that’s my area of expertise here at Buzzfeed,”

She takes back her hand and sits up straighter.

“Let’s get this on Bergara. Ask your questions and this time slower,”

“Alright, just don’t hit me,”

“No promises,”

“Try. Do you have any idea over who Shane’s pining over?”

Sara stares at him dumbfoundedly.

“Are you kidding me. I might just hit you Ryan,”

“What, why?”

She puts her head in her hands and slowly lowers her whole body to the table.

“You two are unbelievable.”

…

He doesn’t get much out of Rubin after all. 

But an inkling of an idea is starting to nudge the back of his brain. It’s yet to fully form but it feels… big. Too big for him to handle. He desperately needs more information.

He needs a new plan.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its earl grey dunk central!!! brits do not interract!
> 
> also thanks for all the comments and kudoses u_u i never knew feedback could feel so nice


	5. come clean baby

It’s a couple days later and he’s yet to come up with anything actionable. 

For now he waits and stews in his own feelings of helplessness.

Shane’s off-puttingly jovial at work, on set his jokes have that manic quality to them. It’s good for camera but awful for Ryan. He wonders whetever anybody notices, but has to come to grips that Shane might be a better actor than any of them were willing to admit before. After all he’s never been overt in expressing what he feels, quick to make light of things that unsettle him. Even Ryan, his closest friend, had only found out something’s wrong by accident, or more like, galling disrespect of personal boundaries that comes from living in each other’s pockets for as long as they have.

He contemplates if Shane was planning to mention being sick to Ryan at any point at all. The likely answer to that query fails to make Ryan feel any less dour.

The big guy’s become weasley every time he’s caught a even whiff of worry from Ryan. So Ryan waits for a suitable moment to corner him. His chest burns. Shane is still working on the desk right next to him and yet he’s so fucking far away Ryan feels an acute loneliness. 

....

With that in mind, Ryan leaps at the oppurtunity when their friend circle from the office decides to go out for drinks on friday. 

As is wont to happen, the outing turns into a full on bacchanalia. After all, they are young, they work hard and they live in the goddamn L.A. babey! 

At least that’s what Shane hollers as their group spills from their second bar of the night, already well into their drinks, and ready for lots more. Ryan wheezes, hangs onto the back of Shane’s shirt, holding him from bolting down the street on those stilt legs of his while Jen tries to stuff Shane’s mouth with a napkin they’ve pilfered from the bar in order to quieten him. 

This is where they say goodbyes to both Teej, who’s recently become a father therefore can’t quite go wild like he used to, and Maycie with her husband who are keen to have the rest of the evening to themselves. The rest of their merry bunch walk half a block, shoving and shouting, only to dissolve on the crowded dance floor of a nearby club. Shane dives right into the crowd, and Ryan follows in his wake, still latched onto his shirt. 

They emerge near the mirror backed bar, and Shane uses his considerable stature to flag the bartenders attention.

He stumbles back to Ryan with two Tequila Sunrises and a shit eating grin.

They slide up to an empty spot along the bar’s counter, pressed in each others sides. Ryan is giddy, it may just be the alcohol in his blood, but everything feels alright again, Shane’s not leaning away for once and Ryan can’t tone down his grin even one iota. It’s dizzying. They’re surrounded by a crowd and yet it feels more like a protective bubble to keep him and Shane close and good, and smiling.

“Looks like there’s actually some advantage to being your height. Notwithstanding hitting your head on the ceiling every time you enter a new room,” he shouts at Shane and snickers, hangs on to his shoulder to bring him closer to hearing range.

“That so,” Shane tugs on his chin with his free hand, eyes Ryan’s glass, “A guy might start to think he’s been to kind to a certain little shit. Might take back his generous, so generous, provision of drinks,” 

Shane sniffs, faux offended, he’s fooling nobody though. His eyes are soft and smile threatens to break his face open any minute now.

Ryan laughs in his face.

“You wouldn’t!” he tugs his glass closer, just in case.

“Yeah, your right,”

With that Ryan watches perplexed as the good cheer melts off of Shane’s face and he pulls away, back into the crowd like a shot.

Ryan shakes off some of his tippsy haze and runs after Shane dropping his glass on the counter.

He just doesn’t get it, he thinks, paddling the dancing people from his path with excusemes and sorries. Shane’s wild hair rises above the rest of the throng and is easy to pick out and follow even in the whirling multicolored lights. They had been having a good time all night, jokes and company enough to make them both forget the looming reality. Ryan had all but forgotten his many concerns of the past two weeks. And fuck that idiot, he’s pulling away again without any reason. 

If this was any other time, any other person, Ryan’s anxious mind would start heaping blame on himself, seeking some wrongdoing in his own actions, but right now he’s angry, not at Shane per se, but the situation in general. Okay, and maybe Shane too, a little bit, he reasons, how daft have you have to be too not see that your friend wants to talk with you, help you.

So he follows with determination and liquid courage to make this right for once.

…

The cool outside air is an instant relief when Ryan bursts out the backdoor through which he just saw Shane vanish.

The back alley is poorly lit and narrow, not the kind of private place Ryan had hoped it would turn out to be. There’s a few people back here smoking, in little groups or alone, some staring at Ryan who had come through the entrance as if Sally itself was on his heels.

He takes a second to collect himself, calm his agitated breathing, and looks around.

He spots Shane immediately. He’s bowed in half over a pace away, one hand on the wall supporting himself as he hacks and heaves, other hand held over his mouth with a handkerchief. Ryan watches the torturous rise and fall of his back.

He cautiously makes his way over to him. Stands there until Shane calms and takes notice of his presence.

“Your buddy seems to have one too many!” someone hollers from further up the alley.

Ryan frowns and shoots the guy a stink eye, he’s probably more drunk than both of them.

He presses down his ire and various anxious thoughts, firmly ignores the audience and turns to Shane. He half lowers himself to try and search the man’s face, which in the sidestreet, lit only by a single light above the backenterance and a far off lightpost is a fruitless endeavour. 

“You okay dude?” 

For all of his past preoccupation over having a talk with Shane, he’s unsure what to say really. Shane remains silent and Ryan chews over his options.

When it seems than Shane is not going to acknowledge him Ryan grabs him by the bicep and tugs.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, “Come on,”

Maybe soothed by his tone Shane doesn’t resist when Ryan proceeds to drag him back inside and guide him along. They hadn’t been outside long but the evening chill had quickly turned uncomfortable on their club-heated skin. Ryan uses that outer coolness now to center himself, to discard the inebriation, and his messier feelings.

He’s almost calm when he drags both of them in a restroom, one of those single-occupant ones, he sends a silent thanks to whatever higher power up there is responsible for the miracle of finding an unoccupied one. 

They’re barely inside when Shane stumbles forwards and down, catching himself just barely on the toilet lipt, and promptly emptying his insides into it.

Ryan stares frozen at the scarlet wave passing his friends lips. He fights the alarm that grips him, the thin veneer of calm not enough when faced with this literal nightmare of a situation.

He pulls as far back against the door as he can, both to get some distance and ground himself.

Shane is not preoccupied long. After going through the last of his fits he rests his head on his forearms, his back effectively blocking off Ryan.

I’m so tired of this. A sound like a whimper slips Ryan.

“Dude, just talk with me,” Ryan hates the way his voice comes out, he might start to cry, and wouldn’t that be a doozy.

“I can’t take this anymore. I don’t know what’s happening with you, you refuse to talk. It’s like you’re… away,” his voice gets stuck at this point.

He has to clear his throat.

“So, please. Big guy. Talk with me.”

His plea made Ryan is left to wait, hope that Shane choses to listen this time.

It’s a tense wait while Shane consider what he’s said.

Finally he turns a little and moves an arm so he can peer over it with one eye.

“You do know what’s happening though, don’t you,” he says barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, Hanahaki,”

Shane hums in accord. He closes his eyes and slightly hides away from Ryan. Not on his watch.

“Okay, okay,” Ryan rushes to fill the silence.

He drags a hand through his sweaty hair, and turns his eyes to the ceiling. It’s one thing to know and a whole different kind of beast to hear it admitted. To his ears it sounds like Shane’s admitting to a death sentence.

But it’s not a death sentence, Ryan scowls.

“Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I’ve- I’ve read some stuff. Hanahaki has treatments. There’s- there’s ahh procedures and stuff,” Ryan trails off.

“Right you are,” Shane’s not looking at him.

Ryan can’t help but let some of his frustration show at that moment.

“Why are you not dealing with this?! You have been like this for months, sure, I didn't notice at first but I’m not an idiot. There were signs before I just hadn’t picked up on them yet. This been going on for months, haven’t it?” 

Silence.

He takes a deep breath and tries again, calmer: “If this like an unrequited thing, why haven’t you done anything about it. Why don’t you take the- the operation. To remove the, uh, whole issue,”

Shane looks back to him with utter calm, like Ryan hadn’t just gone off on him.

“Not that it’s any of your business Ryan, but, I have done it,” 

“It didn’t work. Well it did, for a bit but then it came back,” he coughs like there’s something still struck in his throat.

Nag, nag, nag, his hindbrain goes. A shoe drop is about to come.

Ryan steels himself.

“Who is it. We can figure this out. I’ll help.” he whispers very quiet.

Shane picks a red flower from his mouth. Twirls the red blossom between two fingers. 

Hyacinths, Ryans mind supplies, an alarm picking up in the back of his head.

“Remember Maycie’s wedding? When we we all went along for the planning appointment. You asked, you asked how I knew your favorite flowers.”

Static. His hearing fills up with static and mind goes blank. He’s glad the door’s at his back, because he can’t feel his body anymore.

Oh. 

The sound echoes in his head endlessly, bounces from one corner to other, but stays inside. He's fairly sure he wouldn't even be able to vocalize it right now. 

Ryan's legs are stepping forward on their own, folding at knees and dropping right in front of Shane. He wipes his palms on his jeans, they've gone clammy all of a sudden. Right, he knew this really, had suspected all along in some forbidden if hopeful corner of his subconscious. This shouldn't come as such a shock. And he's had his mind up for a while now, hasn't he. It's only a matter of committing now. 

“Well, that’s alright then,” his says too fast and too nervous, but at least his voice is steady. Small mercies. He's going for it, now. Just jump Ryan, c’mon, no fear. Close your eyes and think of England. Union. Whatever. 

He grabs Shane's face and leans in close--

“What are you doing?” Shane is looking startled and keeping his back rigid, refusing the pull of Ryan's arms. 

He looks in Shane’s wide eyes and screeches to a halt. Ryan’s face heats as he gawks, did he just make a miscalculation of the century?

Shane pushes him away by the shoulders like a rejection. Ryan drops on his ass and tries to crest his mounting mortification.

“See, this is exactly what i did not want to happen,”

Shane rubs his face with both hands, all the weariness of the world in the gesture.

“Dude sorry, I’m so confused right now, I thought you were saying… ah shit,” 

Shane drops his hands.

“No, no you were right”, he coughs embarrassedly, “That was the valid conclusion. I didn’t get it at first too, suspected maybe, but then that day you mentioned your favorites were hyacinths, and it, ah, clicked,”

Ryan perks up in relief, is about to punch Shane’s arm for making him go through all that distress. Shane pushes on,

“But I swear, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t about to do anything, like, make any moves or anything like that. That is, I know your not… into dudes, so the plan was, just carry on and get it fixed and such,” he laughs nervously.

“And it’s not like I’m any more pleased with this situation than you are, okay. I have tried to stop, you know, feeling, things. I don’t even know what’s this about. Yeah, I think you’re funny and smart dude, and your work ethic is really admirable, but this is unreasonable! I don’t know _why_ I’m feeling so strongly or why is this happening, believe me,”

Shane rambles on and Ryan thinks, he should be offended. Luckily he’s in a charitable mood right now.

Shane’s usually much better with words, it serves to show just how uncharacteristically agitated he is over this. Anxiety Ryan knows inside and out, it’s a close companion in his walk of life, seeing it now on Shane calms him down a couple notches.

He cut’s Shane short.

“Okay, we get ir, loving me is huuuge inconvenience, point clear. Now come here and let me kiss you so you can stop choking on your own lungs.” he tries for a smile.

Frustratingly, Shane does not in fact crawl in his lap to have some quality public bathroom floor make-outs.

He just frowns down at Ryan like he’s an idiot instead.

“Did you not just heard anything I said?”

“What I heard was a bunch of borderline insulting horseshit,” Ryan is so puzzled now, nothing is happening how he’s expecting it to, and he’s starting to get defensive.

“Okay let me start again,” he rakes his long fingers through his brown hair, making it stand up in insane ways.

Cute, Ryan lets himself note consciously for the first time.

“Hanahaki is this stupid bogus thing,” he starts, Ryan feels he’s not going to like where it’s going, “It shouldn’t be real, right? Come on, flowers, growing out of your lungs over some misplaced feelings?”

At this point he jabs a finger at Ryan, “And I did not say it was love!” he colors, Ryan rolls his eyes.  
“It’s ridiculous!”, he carries on.

“For one, where do the seeds come from? How does that work in biological terms. And then, if the feelings aren’t returned, you end up kicking bucket? Tell me this doesn’t sound like some emotionally manipulative bullshit,” he hides his face in his hands again.

“I hear you, you’re right. But, it doesn’t matter for us. We can fix this. Come here. Please.” Ryan’s patience is starting to be tested.

“No.”

“No?”

“You heard me,”

Ryan jumps to his feet.

“What the hell is the matter with you? You are my best friend, dude, you know that. Do you think I _want_ you to die? Here I am basically admitting that I have feelings for you, for the record here, I’m putting a slash through that ‘unrequited’ tag, get it. And you’re just sitting there, saying shit that makes no sense and saying no to, i guess, not dying at 32,” 

“Well that’s the thing!”, Shane finally drops his misery, gets heated as well. He climbs to his legs and looms over Ryan.

“I’m your friend, and you are way too fucking generous of a person. Of course you wouldn’t want me- anyone, to die! I know that!”

“Ryan, you are not the cause of this, I am. Nobody is going to blame me for whatever happens next,”

“Oh for fucks sake shut up you self-righteous douche bag! Do. You. Not. Hear. What I’m saying? I feel the same, hello??” it’s a screaming match now.

Shane laugh-sobs, “Oh right, you were straight your whole life, fortunately that was the case only until five minutes ago. Hurah, it’s an early Christmas miracle!”

“You don’t know that!” Ryan whips back, flushes for so many reasons. The anger makes his fingertips break out in tingles, Shane’s cutting sarcasm not helping. Nevertheless he has enough presence of mind to admit that Shane may well have a good point there. He doesn’t have to know that though, does he.

“Well then Ryan, can you honestly tell me you had any feelings of the romantic nature towards me before, let’s see, your good ol’ buddy Shane got saddled with the world’s worst case of romcom trope?”

They’re both breathing heavily now, in their little box of hot anger. Ryan’s traitorous tongue refuses to work for a moment, to deny it. Shane makes a grab for the W while he can.

“Just admit that you’re doing this out of pity Ryan,”

Breath hisses in his nose as he takes big gulps of air. Ryan has never been a violent man, but sometimes he really wants to shake Shane until some sense slips inside his overgrown head.

“Only one way to test it out then,” he snaps at him.

Maybe issuing a challenge like that is not the most mature action in their current state of elevated emotion, but it works.

Shane steps forward and Ryan drags him in by his shoulders.

They come together violently, teeth clashing, and Ryan is immediately overwhelmed.

The dude’s fucking tall, alright. Ryan’s not used to being this enveloped during a kiss, caged by a broad chest and long arms. Shane has stooped down to reach him better, and Ryan is hopelessly endeared by the gesture.

He rallies his wits and begins kissing back.

Shane gentles the kiss, both their tempers have come to head and melt away instantaneously.

It’s a good kiss, chaste and full of feeling, as Shane pulls back Ryan has a vague and giddy expectation for a repeat performance. Soon. Soon would be good. Fantastic even.

Instead he looks at Shane’s face and backtracks.

“Well? That work?”, he licks his lips. The sinking feeling in his gut is back.

Shane has that soft, sad smile on his face again.

He shakes his head.

“It’s okay Ryan, not your fault,”

He presses a last kiss in his hair, reaches past him for the door handle and exits the bathroom.

…

Ryan stays in the bathroom long enough for his discomfiture to abate somewhat, until he’s reasoned his self-loathing to manageable levels. 

He flushes the mess Shane had made, then washes his face. Stares in the mirror and touches his lips.

Then he goes to look for Shane. 

He half expects him to be gone, but after a brief look around he locates him at the bar. He’s putting back drinks like a sailor, and Ryan can’t blame him. He has moved on from cocktails and is now slamming gin. Ryan grimaces, but joins him.

They don’t really talk. For now there isn’t much to say, embarrassment and grief too fresh. So they drink. The best Ryan can do now is make sure Shane knows he’s not alone. It’s probably only a cold comfort in this situation.

After Ryan has the dubious honor of calling an Uber for them as the one least drunk. They catch a ride together, the distance between then in the backseat of the car quite obviously deliberate. Might as well, Ryan thinks his skin would burn if Shane would touch him right now.

They arrive at Shane’s first. Ryan tells the driver to wait up and scrambles to help his swaying friend up the stairs to his apartment.

When ha slings Shane hand over his shoulder, it indeed burns through the fabric of his shirt. Ryan can manage it though, the physical discomfort nothing compared to the mess whirling in his head right now.

When they reach Shane’s door, he surprises him. The sasquatch wraps his arms around Ryan in the sloppy, heartfelt way a truly drunk person can. There’s a precarious moment, where they lose their balance and almost topple over, but Ryan trained way too hard to be brought down by a drunk log of a man. He straightens them out and holds on.

Shane hides his face in Ryan’s hair, now supremely gross after the evening’s activities. Shane is far too many sheets to the wind to mind it seems.

“This is nice, dude. I’m glad to know you cared this much, at least. It’s enough for me, you know.” he murmurs.

Ryan wants to gnash his teeth in frustration. Instead he tightens his hands around Shane and holds him as long as he can.

He stands by the door a long while after it’s closed in his face, Uber forgotten. 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello really proud of this one my dudes, t'was a difficult birth, since i keept waking up at odd hours of the night frantic to write down the cool emotional scenes(tm) over and over again and doing my mostest to avoid tackling the confrontation part. but it was so much fun in the end!!!
> 
> so yeah, this chapter we really get into IT, huh  
> next chapter tittle: you and your pity don't fit in my bed ,':D


	6. you and your pity don’t fit in my bed

Shane lays on his bed, letting both pain and warmth wash over him in equal waves. 

Disconnected memories float through his head. Early mornings and late evenings. The stress of deadlines and serenity of long car rides, but always a proffered coffee cup, a joke fired off and expertly rebounded, a brief hand press to his shoulder: a sign of camaraderie, warmth. He's there, he's there, he's there. Always there. At his more pathetic moments Shane thinks it could be fate bringing them together. Ryan and Shane, Shane and Ryan. Ghoul brothers, ride or die. 

It’s all him though, isn't it. Shane craves a connection so he meddles and wheedles, and somehow he's managed to squeeze into Ryan's life despite the other’s wants, burrowed right on the edges, and now he can't be cut out without bringing excruciating pain to both of them. Nevertheless, Shane only knows how to take, and the edges are not enough for him anymore. He wants to be in the center of the whirlpool that is Ryan Bergara, wants to be seen like he is seeing, wants to stretch out his hands and touch, thread his fingers in the water, be engulfed. 

Instead, he drags a hand down his own face in an effort to still his churning mind and gut. His thoughts are getting disjointed, senseless tangled metaphors going in circles. He tries to stop that train of thought, but it's an impossible task. That's just how Shane's brain is; it tends to get stuck on a thought and mull it over and over until it’s minced to its base components. Memories rise unbidden like bubbles from a drowning man’s mouth.

Ryan's stupid juvenile laugh floats to the surface next, he can almost feel the air reverberating. The memory, so often lived, lovingly stored, reveals itself in full color. Face open and head thrown back, a sound so boyish Shane sometimes has trouble reconciling it with the image of the man, bestubbled and rugged as he is. It’s usually over a bit Shane had played up, a circus performance just for him. Always his best effort for Ryan. 

God. 

He can practically feel the tender blossoms sprouting anew in the passageways of his lungs. Every breath now brushes along the petals, it's an effort to push through. His breathing becomes labored, but if he stays still and keeps his gulps of air even he can postpone the inevitable hacking fit. 

This is how he spends his nights now, waiting for the end. Idle thoughts of his friend and choking self-pity.

He supposes he’s arrived at the last stage of grief, acceptance. Has made his home here a long time ago. 

…

Ryan drags himself home on Saturday morning, alone. The clock shows it’s a reasonable time to skip sleep entirely and get up for a new day, but Ryan’s buzzed and exhausted. He wants a few hours of respite from the guilt and anxiety that only unconsciousness can give. Hey, maybe things _will_ look brighter in the morning light.

Yeah right.

As it is now, the first light of sunrise only serves to darken the shadows in contrast, and give an unhealthy glow to everything else. Ryan pulls the curtains shut vindictively, crawls in his bed. The room hasn’t stopped spinning yet when Ryan drops off.

He wakes only to frantically slap at his phone when the usual morning alarm pops off and feel regret at not brushing his teeth beforehand. It’s only a muddled thought. He passes back out.

He is woken again at noon, this time by his body making demands, no longer allowing him the grace of peaceful rest and empty mind. He goes through his ablutions, lights off, to spare his poor, poor head. 

He is somewhat grateful for the physical discomfort, currently it’s strong enough to take his mind off of… other upsets. Ryan hurriedly shuts off any unproductive lines of thinking. He’s usually not good at barring his mind from anything, but for now he’ll see how far he can get thinking about nothing at all. So he rests his head against the tile, wills lukewarm shower spray and darkness to be the only sensations he feels. 

After he’s gotten the filmy funk of a drunken night off of him (at least from the outside) he goes about tempering the bite of his hangover with a beer and do something about his complaining stomach. There’s a half-full box of cereal and protein powder in his cupboards, Ryan finds, and not much else. He checks his fridge, notes the lack of milk, somberly calculates the distance to the nearest convenience store in Ryan-sized steps. Multiplies it by the little pings of pain caused by his brain being jostled against his skull at any particularly negligent movement. He finds the sum too high.

So he pours some cereal loops in a bowl and then cast a speculative eye on his beer bottle.

No, we wouldn’t do that, that’s uncivilized. But _dry cereal_ , the voice in his own head whines. No, Ryan, we are fucking adults. 

Ugh.

Altogether he’s having a miserable day so far, he contemplates over his _very_ dry cereal and beer, kept seperate, thank you. This would usually be the time he checks in on his other companions of the night, see if everybody’s managed to get back to their respective homes safely, find some solace in collective groaning. He opens the Buzzfeed groupchat where Teej and Maycie have currently teamed up in gleefully discussing just how fine and fresh they are feeling, the rest chiming in with ihateyous. Ryan grins, how two people can manage to be so insufferable and loud over text is, honestly, inspiring. Yet the thread doesn’t hold his attention for long.

With the phone in hand now he feels fidgety, keeps hovering over one name in his contact list. His basic needs appeased, he doesn’t have much to distract himself anymore. He flings the phone away to land on his couch, casts his eyes about his living room, looking for something to latch his attention on. 

His sight catches on one of the photo frames on the wall, a fairly old group image from a new years party at Buzzfeed when he’d just started working there. It’s a bunch of smiling faces, one of the only images of that night that didn’t come out ruined by motion blur from Ryan’s unsteady hands. You see, he’d been laughing too much. They all had.

His eyes linger on one of the faces, stupidly, maddeningly familiar scrunched eyes drawing his gaze unavoidably.

Of course, he huffs throwing himself back on the couch, no peace in his own damn home. At least the resulting ringing pain in his skull effectively cuts off his thoughts. 

He stares at the ceiling stubbornly until the light outside shifts to amber tones and then begins to dim.

When he hauls himself back up, it’s with little protest from his head, but he feels stiff and out of it. He decides to take a walk.

The streets of L.A. aren't the most calming environment for most, yet they suit Ryan just fine. He seeks out the bustle specifically, the ceaseless thrum of people out and about, living, loving and suffering in a single minded fervor forms a background music that compliments whatever tensions Ryan feels at any given time. 

It's serves to compartmentalize Ryan's thoughts, put in perspective his worries. 

For example, almost becoming a victim of vehicular homicide twice in the span of half an hour has a way of making you appreciate the little things. 

Unbelievable. 

He sometimes forgets that the city he grew up in is filled with crazy people. He hasn't had the time for taking walks, for remembering in a long while. 

He wonders if maybe he’s crazy as well. 

Eventually he manages to get lulled in a peace of mind of sorts, the Ryan Bergara flavor. He’s stopped under a young walnut tree on the edge of a rather unremarkable green area. It's tiny, a patch of nature of questionable permanence, as every square inch in Ryan's neighborhood is a hot commodity. No doubt there's somebody itching to get their claws into it for real estate development this very moment. 

Still, Ryan scuffs the trampled, yellowing grass with the toe of his sneaker, reaches out a hand to feel the bark, where it's smooth, where it's rough. 

He closes his eyes and gets swallowed by the sounds. Saturday night traffic, the road just a few feet away. A faint din of music from a nearby venue. Somebody having a loud argument a street away.

He thinks about the circumstances that lead to the little park being right there and him standing in it. If it will still be there when he goes looking for it next. 

What he doesn't do is think about coffee cups that have a tendency to show up by his right wrist unsummoned whenever he’s in a notably tight crunch-- pretentious sad-dude-indie music loud enough to be audible through headphones, dude you’re gonna ruin your hearing if you listen to it that loud, ryan laughs pulling out an earbud, he’s maybe upset at being ignored-- a distinct arch of an eyebrow--

Dammit.

Ryan sighs angrily at the unsettled churning starting in his gut again. It’s fucking hard to detangle one’s feelings, find where one starts and another ends when the everpresent alarm of impending loss threatens to submerge it all. Everything in Ryan is a fluttering mess.

So he presses his fingers harder in the tree bark and lets his thoughts loose. 

…

Sun, 09:41 Ryan:  
we gotta talk

(received)

Sun, 09:42 Ryan:  
is2g nothing ominous  
let’s grab a bite??

(received)

Sun, 11:04 Ryan:  
dude I know ur awake

(received)

Sun, 13:16 Ryan:  
c’mon squatch, stop ignoring me

(received)

Sun, 19:57 Ryan:  
tomorrow then?

(received)

...

Ryan worries at his lip and eyes the office floor. He’d been here bright and early, another nearly sleepless night having him out of the house at the crack of dawn. This time it’s with excitement of putting a new plan into motion. Only Shane is late and Ryan’s excitement is rapidly running over.

Maybe it was a bad idea to give a warning to the big guy. He now knows that he’s up to something, and Ryan should have known that he’d be avoiding what he thinks is a confrontation with all the might his Illinoisan upbringing could afford him. 

He’s been periodically getting up and making new cups of tea, the previous ones getting cold and untouched as he’s waiting for their intended recipient. He reckons a peace offering to start can’t bring harm. 

He resignedly notes that the current one has lost its heat again, and rises to repeat his errand when Shane sails in, looking disheveled and unphased by anything as ever.

Ryan makes his way over to him, shoving the cold tea in his hand and herding him in an offshoot hallway for some semblance of privacy.

“We’re going to have a talk, Shane. I’m talking,”

“Good morning to you too, Ryan, thanks for the… cold tea? What’s this about?”

“Sorry, it would still be warm if you’d deigned to come into work on time,” it comes out a little sheepish.

“Calm your horses, it’s only like nine am,”

“Ten, you’re late.”

“Ooohkay. Did we have a production meeting planned that I missed?” Shane frowns in confusion.

“...no. I, ahh, been waiting for you the whole time is all,” he resist the urge to fidget with his hair, “you know how i get.”

Shame humms, encouragement for him to continue.

“So I’ve been waiting to ask you since yesterday, saturday night actually. And I had to do it as soon as possible too, for reasons.”

He looks up at Shane for a second, then fixes his eyes on the wall by his right ear.

“I want you to go out with me. On a date I mean. Like, a normal hang out, okay, but that it’s a one hundred percent date situation, no doubts about it. With you. Uh.” he clears his throat. 

Well that went better than expected, the mortification he feels is manageable, given that he is asking out his co-worker in their place of work, first thing monday morning, after having made out with the said co-worker the previous friday. He hasn’t even flushed. This is already going better than great majority of his high school date-type encounters.

Shane pauses, then excruciatingly slowly takes a sip of his cup of tea as if they both didn’t know it was cold and gross by now.

It’s a long moment. Shane makes sure to make it as insufferable as possible.

“Yeah, that’s going to be a no, Ryan,” he finally says, without even a hint of emotion in either his voice or face.

That’s alright. Ryan is prepared this time, he has all the facts, all the variables now. He jabs a finger in Shane’s face, startles him out of his aloof facade.

“You will. I’ve got it all planned, don’t even think that you have a chance to slip out of it,” he tries for a humorous tone.

Shane latches on it as a life preserver it is and laughs along.

“This is harassment! I should be contacting HR!”

In the end Ryan doesn’t get an agreement, but when they leave to hallway for their desks, they do it together and smiling. Ryan’s done with ending conversations left behind and alone.

...

You, me, Ryan gestures at Shane, where he’s standing across and away from their seats, pulled in a conversation with Ashley, Kelsey and the video game Zach.

Date? he mouths and holds up two thumbs.

Shane laughs silently and shakes his head, proceeds to ignore Ryan but he goes back to his conversation beaming.

Ryan smiles too. He’s going to keep trying.

…

“Stop being a pussy, man, I’m not going to stop bugging you,”

“Oh no Ryan is being annoying, whatever will we do?”

“I’m serious. I’ll do something really fucking outlandish next. Like, like 10 reasons I hate you style,”

“Going to sing for me in front of the whole bullpen?” Shane bats his eyes.

“Yeah! So you better stop me while you still can, you know my singing is atrocious. It will be embarrassing for both of us,” Ryan really hopes that it won’t come to that.

“It’s a good movie though,” Shane sighs wistfully.

Ryan agrees.

...

Five o’clock rolls around, and Shane still hasn’t cracked. 

If nothing works, Ryan is already half-heartedly considering a list of songs to embarrass himself to. It’s a tough task coming up with something that would be funny yet heartfelt. Something thats _them_.

Don’t let it be said that he’s not taking this whole business seriously.

But he still has one last play left up his sleeve. He’s really banking it on this one.

When they both get up to leave, Ryan swipes Shane’s keys and dances out of the reach in victory.

“What are you, eleven?” Shane sighs tiredly.

“Yeah, on a scale one to ten!”

Weak.

Shane seems to mirror his thoughts, groaning with disgust.

“That was terrible, Ryan,” he glances about the office, making sure nobody’s in earshot.

“You are a horrible, horrible gremlin Mr. Bergara. How could I ever have been attracted to you. I’ve see the error in my ways though, I am cured now.”

To be frank, Ryan had completely forgotten that there was something at the stake here. He’d had a great time today, ragging on Shane, falling behind on his work just to banter and heckle each other. When the symptoms are not visible, Hanahaki goes under the radar easily. True, there were moments where Shane had suspiciously slid out from Ryan’s vision, going off to do God knows what (he knows what, most likely), bet he had looked… happy most of the day too. Guilt rises in Ryan at the reminder.

His smile falls a little bit but he tries to hide it. He focuses on the other parts of what Shane’s said.

“You think I’m attractive?” he lights up.

“Your personality really isn’t,”

“That’s not denial!” Ryan crows.

“Keys, Ryan.”

“No. We are going for a drive. In my car.”

Shane squints at him, “Have you always sounded like a murderer?”

Ryan stammers.

“There’s just no give from you, huh. Always gotta be a smartass.”

Shane only grins a little.

“Is it too much to ask. I just want to talk with you, without any bullshit, and I can’t do it at work and you won’t hang out with me anymore it seems. It’s- I miss you, man, okay. And I want-”

“Okay,” Shane says quietly.

Ryan whips his eyes up. Holy shit.

“Not today tough,” Shane rubs at his chest, glances at him apologetically, “Thursday?”

Ryan nods eagerly.

“No funny stuff though, Bergara”

“Cool, cool, cool, it’s going to be super caszh then! Chill even!”

“Okay Ryan,” Shane laughs

When he reaches for his keys Ryan doesn’t side step but he doesn’t open his hand either. He makes Shane come into his space and pry his fingers open to get to them. When he does, Ryan uses the opportunity to stare up in his face from up close.

When he’s retrieved his keys and about to step away, Ryan grabs his wrist lightning fast. Shane gets so surprised everytime Ryan touches him willingly. Even now he jolts, almost drops the keys, looks at him all confused.

Ryan smiles at him, this close it feels different. Intimate.

Shane smiles back hesitantly.

…

Now Ryan just has to sit and wait. Another thing he’s never been good at.

It’s goddamn torture, alright.

A farcical affair that could be taken out of a Jane Austen novel.

Reading which should be considered real, actual torture as far as Ryan’s concerned.

It’s two and a half days of awkward glances and and dancing around each other on tiptoes.

You mean _longing_ glances? His mind supplies unhelpfully. 

Absolutely disgusting.

It’s not like he can get any relief at home either. He keeps being pulled to all sides with worry, about what Shane’s doing right now, are his lungs okay (what if he’s choking on tufts of flowers at this very moment?!), whetever he’s going to bolt before thursday, _what is Ryan going to wear if he doesn’t?_

And when the worry surrenders to exhaustion in the odd hours of the night, Ryan is left plagued by the remembered sensation of spindly fingers. It’s not unpleasant, but it makes Ryan edgy, his legs going numb. He grits his teeth and keeps his hands to himself no matter how hard he wants to trace the ghostly touch.

By the time Shane folds himself in the front seat of his car on Thursday night, Ryan has sweated out all of his misgivings. He been left with a solid core of determination and crystal clarity.

…

He takes them to Santa Monica Pier.

“Oh Ryan,” Shane laughs in this condescending way when the ferris wheel rises above the skyline and it becomes clear it’s their destination.

“I should have known, ol’ Bergmeister loves a sappy cliche,”

Ryan keeps his eyes to the road, but when he cast a sidelong glance to Shane, he looks genuinely delighted. Gotcha.

Thing is, Ryan had chosen the Pier very deliberately. They’d gone there before, many times as friends. It’s close, Ryan loves the various attractions and Shane loves history. They both love the food trucks and the about twenty or so different kinds of craft beer available. 

He had hoped that the familiar base would make their conversation a little easier.

…

It’s a weekday so the crowds aren’t that bad. The parking is still a nightmare by any definition.

But that is the last thing on his mind when he follows Shane up the boardwalk. The night has fallen and the neon lights are now casting their magic on everyone. Shane is bathed in pink then green, when he looks back at Ryan with a twinkle in his eye.

Ryan makes sure to memorize this moment.

“You said you had this planned out Ry. Wouldn’t happen to include amusement rides?”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all,” they both grin at each other like loons.

Ryan hurries up to walk closer to Shane, to lead him further on the pier. 

He swallows hard when Shane knocks his shoulder into his, waggling his eyebrows. The whole situation is funny suddenly, his stress of past weeks completely unfounded when he’s with his favorite person in this place he loves. He let’s the laughter, the lights, the carnival music mixed in with pop to overtake them.

…

Every time they’ve come to the Pier they’ve tried a couple of different novelty beers. It’s a standing tradition and so far they haven’t had a repeat drink, apart of the ones they’ve declared their favorites. Apple cinnamon for Shane and a specific maple flavored one for Ryan. 

So Ryan decides to make a dent in that score when he spots a new one.

He halts Shane by pulling on his hand and motions towards the beer stand. Then he just… doesn’t let go over the brief walk over.

Shane is silent, doesn’t put up a fight and Ryan’s mind is obnoxiously blasting a vaguely 80s themed movie score in celebration.

He has to let go in order to pay for their beers though, the words “two cotton candy blasts, please” tripping over his broad smile.

Oh, this one’s gonna be so bad, he thinks ginning.

When he turns back, Shane is gone.

…

He finds him between the pylons.

His heart is doing flips as he draws near, sneakers catching in the sand. If Ryan hesitates, it’s of no conscious decision of his own. He doesn’t want to see, he’s not strong enough to watch and do nothing. But hearing the disturbing sounds of Shane hacking bouncing between the concrete pillars is not much better. 

He drops the beer bottles in the sand and braces himself.

“Hey man, you can’t just run off like that,” he begins with a shaky little laugh to warn Shane of his approach.

The man in question only gasps raggedly. However he collects himself soon, leans his back on the closest pylon for balance.

Ryan’s holding his eyes carefully trained on Shane, posture rigid. Nevertheless the red spots in the edges of his vision do not fail to register.

In the low light under the Pier it’s hard to tell that it’s blood that stains the already red flowers. Funny.

His stomach cartwheels unhappily, bile rising at the thought. His whole body twitches once in an urge to get closer, to do something. He forces himself to still, waits until Shane’s breathing evens out, his own agitation quietens. They wait for something with the breaking of the surf as a backdrop.

“I can’t do this Ryan,” Shane says after a while, his voice like a wound, tone utterly dead.

“I don’t know what… game you think your playing, but. Stop it.”

“Shane...”

“It hurts really fucking much, okay,” he wheezes, interrupting, “I know you think you’re helping or, or being nice but all it does is make the cursed flowers grow,”

The last part dissolves in more coughing and Ryan starts, gives in and moves closer to Shane only to have him shake his head panicky.

“Shit, dude, I didn’t know I was actually making it worse for you” he stops an armbreadth’s distance away, scuffing his feet for something to do.

“It’s not that. Probably. Anyways, I wanted to come here, with you, so there’s that. It’s my fault too,” 

It’s time, Ryan thinks. He can speak now and Shane will listen, they have found mutual understanding once again between the carnival lights and echoes of the waves. But he doesn’t think he can keep calm with the blasted flowers taunting him like foreboding omen.

So he steps out from under the pier, says: “Walk with me.” 

They have to toe off their shoes, and Ryan remembers to grab the beer bottles on the way.

Then they set off, Ryan leading them further from the lights and sound of the people, Shane follows keeping a good stretch of space between them as if wary of an attack.

Ryan drops down into the sand when the Pier starts looking like an island in the distance. He digs his freezing toes deeper in the sand and spots the patch of sand next to him.

Shane joins him, guardedly folds his knees close to his chest. He sits further away than Ryan would like, but he can work with that.

He blows a out a breath to the night.

“Shane, I’ve had some pretty big thoughts,”

“Oh no!” Shanes gasps dramatically, some composure returning, “Is your tiny head about to explode, is that what you’re saying?”

Ryan traitorous face stretches into a small smile, totally unearned for a jape that weak.

“Shut up,” he mumbles without any heat.

He straightens his spine and schools his expression. Shane is starting to get squirelly again, Ryan has to say what he means to say and he has to do it fast, while Shane’s guard is still down if he is to have any hope of reaching him.

Actually some physical reaching might be needed.

Ryan shuffles closer, gently takes Shane’s hand between two of his, he keeps his movements slow and steady, clearly telegraphed, not to give any cause for bolting. Shane is a lot like a young a colt right now. Long legs and all, rearing at any suggestion of danger, Ryan thinks fondly with a quiet snort. He turns the hand in his grasp and lets his fingers memorize the feel of Shane’s own long digits and broad palm.

Shane is taking stuttery breaths, as if his breath has been stolen and he’s having a hard time calming it.

Gotcha, Ryan thinks again.

He doesn’t stop rubbing Shane’s hand with his thumb and carries on.

“I’ve had some pretty big thoughts, don’t interrupt me for this.”

Shane doesn’t, he seems too transfixed by Ryan’s hands at the moment.

“I’ve been thinking about things you’ve said and things I feel, umm, have felt for a long time. Maybe I didn’t recognize them before, but I do now, dude,” he laughs a little, “Okay, this is mortifying to put out there straight.”

“I’m trying to say, I’m reasonably sure that I do love you,”

Shane whips up his head to protest at this: “But--”

“I didn’t finish. I’m sure about my feelings, right? So this is a theory I have, you listening?”

He nods.

“I think the flowers haven’t gone away because you don’t want to believe me.”

Ryan falls silent expectantly, isn’t surprised when Shane withdraws, yet can’t help feeling regret at the loss of Shane’s hand, the only point of warmth in the chilly night. 

Shane pulls himself further, his brows lowering in affront.

“What the hell Ryan, that’s crazy even for you,” he accuses.

“It’s the only explanation! Don’t forget I fucking know you!” Ryan responds with fervor, “You think if you suppress every single emotion, it’s going to somehow make you a- a, what, more virtuous person?”

“What has that to do with anything? Also not true. I have emotions. I have emotions all the time.”

“See? Is that something a normal person would say? All I mean is that maybe you realized you had feelings for me,” Shane huffs, “ and decided something along the lines of, ‘oh woe me, those will never be returned’ and stuffed them away in that attic you call a brain!”

“And now when I say that I feel the same, you can’t dig them back out.” 

“And then Hanahaki came,” he ads hushed, “and it’s too much of a mess for you to deal with.”

Shane is wearing a mulish expression and not looking at him.

Ryan cocks his head, “You saying I’m not at least a little bit right, big guy?”

No response. Ryan sighs.

He pushes one of the beers into Shane’s hands, then pulls the top off of his own. Sips a mouthful.

“Look man, I don’t want to fight with you, all I’m asking is for you to give me a chance to unfuck your head,”

Ryan is watching Shane from the corner of his eye. As he says that Shane’s lips twitch, barely.

They sit there, the sand leaching their precious warmth. Ryan feels chills starting to seize him, thinks they should think about moving soon.

Shane fidgets with his bottle, picks at the label then pulls the cap and takes a swig.

He immediately spits it out.

“Ryan! This is SO gross!”

Ryan dissolves into cackles. 

...

It’s not really in Shane’s hands after. He’s been completely blindsided. Let’s Ryan pull him up, and off the beach, doesn’t dare to do anything but comply when Ryan claims to be cold and throws a hand across Shane’s middle, burrows in his side on the way back to the car.

He’s still feeling dizzy when Ryan follows him home like an insistent burdock.

He now watches flabbergasted as Ryan marches right into his bedroom confident as you please, like he owns the place.

Ryan's not shy anymore, he’s left all his inhibitions on that beach. He tugs Shane by the hand and arranges both of them on the bed. Like he owns Shane.

They are both tired, drained emotionally and freezing. Maybe this one time it’s fine, Shane reasons. Maybe Ryan means what he’s saying. Thinking about that hurts his chest so he doesn’t.

Shane stretches out on his back, head turned towards Ryan, who gets on his side, curls his body slightly, lightly bracketing Shane's. They do not touch, but their breaths are walled in between each other's necks. 

“g’night,” Ryan murmurs and nestles just an inch closer, his nose nearly pressing into the underside of Shane's jaw. 

Shane exhales shakily, focuses on his breathing and calming the rolling nausea in his belly. 

Ryan murps like a question and clumsily curves a hand in the curve of his elbow. 

It’s fine. 

… 

Shane ends up lurching to the bathroom in the middle of the night, just two hours later. 

The fluorescent lights assault him mercilessly as he heaves, red clumps of strong smelling blooms falling from his lips after each particularly labored hack. As he stares at them, his vision blurs, the sight becomes a scene of gore. 

He's gasping for breath, tears and snot streaming along his long nose to drip down when he hears Ryan silently padding to the entrance of the bathroom. 

He pauses, then comes to him, dropping to his knees at Shane's side. A hesitant hand finds its way to his shoulder. He bows over in another fit and the presence of the hand firms up, slides betwixt his shoulder blades now.

Ryan hugs him inbetween his worst moments, presses his face into the side of Shane's head, neck. He's whispering comforting nonsense and other words Shane's too tired to parse. He's so very tired, every part of his body burns with exertion. 

Ryan scoots over against a cabinet and pulls him between his legs, his back against Ryan’s chest, puffs of breath against his hair. He wraps his arms around him and Shane sags into the solid warmth gratefully. 

He doesn't have it in him to protest anymore, the remains of his pride worn out and barriers batted down. He feels strung out and empty, all there is left is to fall into unconsciousness, into Ryan. 

It's fine. 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first and foremost:  
> we've got a new quality assurance officer on board-- chillinwithpeachy!! so pleased to have u (^-^)ゝ
> 
> in this installation we think abt having consistent chapter sizes, what must that feel like; we also think abt this fic and the ratio of scenes spent in bathrooms vs outside bathrooms. not great lads :/  
> so yeah, another chapter is coming up real soon! have a great ass end of the year fellas!!!


	7. cold hands, comparative warmth

Shane’s alarm goes off at seven AM on the dot. Ryan’s ready for it, had located the phone upon waking up some hour ago and shuts it down promptly on the first ring. He’d woken up at his usual time even taking in accord the late evening and disturbed sleep of the previous night, his sleeping cycle is well established. He’s trained his body to subsist on the very minimum of rest necessary without complaint in order to fill his life with both work and things he loves.

Therefore he’s had a whole hour of watching Shane sleep snuggled in his thigh from where he himself is sitting against the headboard and thinking. Ryan gently sinks his fingers in the other man’s hair, notes it’s on it’s way to getting greasy and idly adjusts the running schedule in his mind. He’d planned on letting Shane sleep another fifteen minutes, he needs it so badly. But if they plan to shower and fight past L.A.’s traffic to make it to work in time he’ll have to get up, like, right now.

Still, the compulsion to let his fingers do as they will is too strong. He runs through Shane’s longish strands and has idle thoughts of skipping work maybe this once. It’s Friday.

It is then that Shane stretches on the bed, unpeels his face from Ryan’s leg to squint at him one-eyedly.

“What time is it?” he gruffs with a yawn.

Ryan uses his unoccupied arm to check: “Seven o’ eight. We gotta get up.”

Shane grumbles something inaudible and Ryan has to laugh a little.

“Dude, you gotta get up and shower, your hair is so gross right now,”

“Stop touching it then,”

Ryan only digs his fingers in deeper, kneads his scalp. And Shane makes a beautiful sound, goes boneless under him. Ryan watches with fascination, he’d been seemingly spellbound by this new ability to _touch_ before, when the man was soft and sleeping, but it is so much better with Shane awake, his responsiveness rewarding.

It doesn’t last long, Shane slips from the bed to wash up and Ryan gets the first coffee cup of the day going for both of them. As the water percolates, he turns to face the kitchen. He’s struck with just how normal this feels. The space is familiar and the man inhabiting it is… comforting, Ryan thinks. Shane has a well worn groove in Ryan’s life. He’s always there, at work, on location, on weekends: Ryan’s place or Shane’s, on afterwork outings with their mutual friends and at theme parks(on the rare occasion Ryan manages to wear Shane down and get him along).

He’d spent a large chunk of the early hours thinking about this, between dumbly taking in the planes of his bedmate’s face and shoulders. The point being, Ryan doesn’t feel like it’s too much of a stretch to have Shane closer. 

That being said, Shane had always made Ryan feel thrown off his game. It’s only with the possibility of Shane being interested in him sitting in his mind, had he been able to open a sort of new channel of seeing. He’d looked at the past, rationalized and reasoned over every single reaction to Shane he’s ever had, that made him feel-- feel... some sort of way.

The sum total Ryan had come to was: he likes Shane, and he likes him a lot. The thing is, Ryan’s little confesion did nothing for Shane. 

The brewing machine beeps and Ryan goes about pouring two mugs instead of fretting over his doubts.

He strains his ears for the sounds of shower and gulps down his drink in small increments. 

The tap-tap of his socked feet against the tile is a annoying even though he’s the one doing it. Ryan glances at the time. They should be leaving in a bit. Shane’s been in that shower an awful long while.

Ryan goes to rap on the door.

‘Hey, you alright there...?’

“M’okay,” comes after a pause.

Ah, there’s that awkwardness he’d been expecting. He rests his head against the painted plywood. No amount of caffeine can make him feel ready to take this on.

“Are you freaking out there dude?”

Silence. This is starting to feel like a copy of what happened at that last haunted house they’d visited, Ryan shivers at the thought.

“Can I come in? We gotta go to work and I’d really like to do that whilst not smelling like spilt fairground beer and rank seaweed.” 

“Yeah, stay there, I’m coming out,”

He stays inside for a couple more minutes the creep of which Ryan measures in coffee jitters.

When Shane emerges he’s showered but that doesn’t do much for the visible traces of pain on his face. Ryan wants to smooth out the tension lines around his eyes, but he’s a coward and in a hurry. He squeezes Shanes hand though, and directs him to the coffee he’s made before shutting the door behind him.

They are so late for work. More so when they inevitably get stuck in traffic just a couple blocks off Shane’s street. Shane’s studiously ignoring him, observing the pileup of cars with great interest to avoid voicing what’s bothering him. Ryan can only send sidelong glances to his friend and flex his hand on the clutch. He wishes they’d stayed in that bed where everything was easier and extending an arm to touch didn’t feel like this forbidden thing.

…

Shane’s moping.

Ryan tries to not take it personally, the guy’s got issues other than one’s directly involving Ryan. 

Still, a little cheering up might do good. So Ryan goes on a coffee run. It’s an innocent enough gesture. A small thing they do for each other, a few times a week on the regular. For some reason Ryan is hit with nerves this time. Like he needs to impress Shane, as if they hadn’t seen each other in essentially every stage of slump or success at some point, at both their worst and their best. Like the regular coffee from the kitchen won’t do this time.

So he puts in some effort, he drives (drives!) to the fancy coffee place where a simple latte comes at twelve dollars, and get’s a muffin for each of them as well. After all, it’s hard to be upset when you have a free snack.

Okay, maybe the gesture is more apologetic than intended, Ryan doesn’t like to think exactly what he feels he needs to make amends over. It’s depressing.

When he makes it back, Shane’s not at his desk. Ryan shrugs and settles down to work. When Shane returns a minute later, Ryan doesn’t pay much mind to his windswept and breathless state. 

“Hey man, I got us some coffee,” Shane says as he gets out of his jacket and folds it over his chair. 

Ryan looks up, “Oh. I got you coffee too.”

Shane pauses.

“Well, I’ve got brownies?”

Something ticks in Ryan’s jaw.

“I got muffins,” giggles erupt from him mid sentence. This fucking guy.

Shane recovers, guffaws right alongside him, bright and startled. They look at their four coffee cups and double over in another fit of laughter.

…

Afternoon break comes and lingers as they chat with their coworkers, a gaggle forming in the break room, Shane by his side. The conversation is winding down as one by one people segment off to return to their tasks.

That’s when Sara comes in from one of the As/Is sets. She lays a single glance on Ryan and her expression goes distinctly unhappy, mouth a tense line. She loudly blurts out: “Ryan, is that Shane’s flannel?”

Their little group falls silent to eye Ryan and discern, that yes, the shirt Ryan is wearing is indeed a little too well worn and long in the hem to be his, it’s true owner not hard to guess. When he’d picked the shirt after his shower Shane had done a double take but let it go without comment, Ryan had hoped it was similar enough to the red plaids he wears on occasion to pass undetected, but apparently not. Ryan holds his face very impassive and fights the heat he can feel spreading from the top of his head. An excuse is already forming, but it dissolves at the sight of Sara’s expression. 

He’d love to offer up some half-truth about staying on Shane’s couch after a movie night or something unassuming like that, but Sara would know it for a lie. He stands there under the scrutiny of all their friends and sweats bullets as his mind refuses to come up with anything else.

“I lent it to him,” Shane pipes up nonchalant as you please after the moment has dragged on for too long. Ryan whips his head up grateful for a break in the tense silence. Even though it’s no explanation at all, their friends are willing to dismiss the whole shirt swap business as another peculiarity of their friendship. Someone whistles and the group erupts in friendly ribbing at their expense. It’s all jokes, tame out of respect for Shane and Sara’s recent change in relationship status. He’s sure they’d be in for a much more savage of a shake down had it not be the case, Ryan just laughs along a smidge too relieved. The heat has definitely engulfed his face now.

It’s still an undeniably weird moment. He can feel a couple of scrutinizing looks on him, one of them from Sara. She keeps quiet even as the conversation swerves to different topics, not meeting Ryan’s eyes but a wrinkle forms between her eyebrows as she apparently tries to ignite something at about the height of his chest. The shirt probably. Hopefully not the man underneath. Uh.

Ryan feels like such an asshole. In her eyes he must basically be a fucking homewrecker and he can’t even muster enough of a genuine feeling to stop her ex-boyfriend from slowly dying a gruesome death. So there goes that justification.

When Sara parts from their gossip ring, Ryan makes to go after her, feels the need to explain himself and salvage their friendship, but Shane’s hand stops him.

“I’ll talk to her,” he says in a low voice, and scurries off.

…

Sara returns to the office floor with red rimmed eyes, which Ryan notices only because he’s watching for it.

He reclines back in his swivel chair with a heavy sigh. The guilt he feels is a physical pressure inside his skull. He closes his eyes and applies pressure to his temples only for it to transform in a far more literal headache. Can’t win.

Ryan eyes his opened editing program and groans internally. He has done less work this week than that one time he’d gone into work high on DayQuil and brain half fried by a whooping 103 degree fever. He usually produces his best work under stress and hindered by various obstacles but this is different. Usually his desk partner is there to soothe his more prickly edges with little comforts, coax his tumultuous thoughts into determination by way of teasing comments and jabs. He’s not here now though at it’s turning out to be far too distracting.

He gives up on doing any work that day, delegating it as a problem for the future Ryan, and goes looking for the both source and cure for his preoccupation. 

His beanpole turns up in one of the lounges, elbows braced on his knees, head down, radiating so much tangible misery he’s driven all other co-workers from the space. Still it’s not much a private nook, glass walls opening to a hallway, but Ryan is willing to make do.

He drops on the sofa close besides Shane. Very close. He bumps their knees making Shane straighten up to acknowledge him, then just leaves their legs pressed together. Ryan’s made giddy by his own daring, here in their open work space in sight of anybody who’d walk past, Shane is looking at him, not recoiling from his touch and Ryan is a little amazed at how pliant the guy is being, how easily he surrenders to Ryan in contrast to the persistent cageyness of the days before.

At that moment he’s sure that what he feels for Shane is very real and entirely too overwhelming, Ryan realizes that maybe he hadn’t been ready for this, hadn’t been prepared for the great rush of affection that threatens to bowl him over. It isn’t brought on by any one thing, it’s just this specific moment and this specific person, all that they are together, all the history that stretches between them, he thinks. His lungs seize up and breath catches. He wants to ask Shane, is this what you feel? Are you paralyzed by fear at the sheer enormity of it all? 

Shane only blinks at Ryan, unwitting of what he’s witnessing. Ryan wants to shake him, make him understand. It doesn’t feel like the right time for that though, so he does the next best thing - he grips the man’s hand more than a little desperately to anchor himself against the all encompassing tenderness and fear batting against him. He’s expecting it to be weird, for Shane to wriggle out, but he latches on his hand with as much desperation, some of the tension slipping from his frame. It makes a pretty picture to watch: his face opening up and drawn shoulders easing out.

It’s gratifying. For once Shane let’s him see that he needs him, just as much as Ryan does.

They sink back in the couch, together, and consequently, in each other’s sides. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like run over by an eight wheeler,”

Ryan pauses. “Just to clarify- you mean that mentally or physically?”

“Oh, both,” Shane laughs soundlessly and the motion travels up Ryan’s side. 

“Sara is really upset with me and you should be too, you know,” Shane drags their joined hands into his lap and starts fiddling with Ryan’s fingertips. It tickles a little. 

“I just keep hurting you both, and for what reason,” Shane’s throat constricts and he falls silent with a choked click. Ryan doesn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, Shane is right. He himself had seen Sara’s face after the talk they’d presumably had, and it’d twisted at him something fierce. 

And, yes, Shane’s stubborn refusal to recognize the validity of his confession, it fucking sucks so bad. More than he’s ready to admit, really. It’s patronizing and a betrayal of their friendship, but knowing him as he does, Ryan can easily see the loops of logic Shane must have made to reframe reality in something easier to handle. It’s just another thing they’ll have to deal with together, he wows to himself, sending Shane’s hand a squeeze. 

“Eh, that’s debatable. Sara probably hates me too now, what’s with the whole shirt thing,” he feels sheepish just by remembering, “should have realized what it would look like,”

Shane looks at him sharply then, “Ryan she’s not mad at you. At all. She made it super clear actually,”

“Good to know. Still, you shouldn’t have let me borrow your shirt,” Ryan snickers.

Shane casts his eyes down and mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Didn’t catch that, dude,”

“I like it on you,” Shane says and immediately makes a valiant attempt at sinking deeper into the couch at the words.

“Oh my god, dude,” he punches Shane’s shoulder lightly and beams, “Are you getting sappy on me?”

Shane risks glancing at Ryan and his face does interesting things to maintain a casual look, but the overall pink tinge is telling. So Shane Madej is able to feel embarrassment, huh, this one’s for the books, Ryan notes as the corners of his smile are about reach his ears.

“I really, really like it. It’s,” he takes a large gulp of air, like he’s about to confess something, “I’m sorry for being this selfish. I didn’t want to force you into anything and now I’ve messed up your head with the whole flowers deal--”

“Shane, shut-”

“--but having your attention feels so good, okay. And it’s all I wanted for so long, and now-- you’re too good to me and I can’t let go, not now,” his voice is cracking and he just shrinks smaller and smaller, deeper into the couch.

“And after what you said yesterday, what you said on the beach, I- maybe… and when you put on my shirt… fuck, it’s like, I can- we can-” he shudders, reaches over, ever hesitantly, and curls a hand in the hem of Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan is completely stunned. Shane doesn’t do this. Doesn’t get lost in his emotions, when he speaks it’s always something that can be interpreted as a joke if needed, to be taken back at a moments notice. This is uncomfortable, like Ryan is holding on to a bundle of naked wire, any wrong moment making it sting and spark. But he’s so helplessly compelled by it, wants dig into it, to the wrist, to the elbow.

He clears his throat and has to turn his head away just to reply, “Well, you’re lucky, I have so much attention to give, and it’s all yours for the taking.”

It’s the least and the most he can say, for now.

Shane keens like Ryan’s words had hurt him (and maybe they do, he doesn’t know) then careens bodily into Ryan. He hides his face in the space between Ryan’s shoulder and neck, his fingers twisting into his shirt for real now, one at hip, other over Ryan’s heart. Uncontrollable shuddering overtakes him. Oh shit, Ryan thinks, he’s crying. But no, there’s no wetness at his neck.

If it’s a laugh, it doesn’t feel particularly mirthful either.

He holds Shane around the shoulders nevertheless, shushing him though no sound comes.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” he stammers, “I love you big guy.”

Shane laughs against him, properly this time.

“Yeah, I want to believe that.”

Ryan rocks them back and forth, until Shane stops hiccuping, all the while painfully aware that anyone could pass the hallway at any moment. They’re basically sitting in each others laps now, and Ryan’s ears flush at the image. 

When Ryan suggests they leave work early, Shane follows him easily.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ilus  
> Ryan: 2 Shane: -1
> 
> a quick one, babes, a real flufster  
> in writting this im repeatedly struck w/ the fact that ive got the emotional depth of a spoon 


	8. pick a place to rest your head

Contrary to a widespread belief, working for Buzzfeed is not all fun and games, goofing off and eating strange food items. True, the nature of the work they do allows for flexible working schedules but only up to a point. Production of Unsolved is a labor intensive task, and it’s not something Ryan can afford to slack off on, not unless he’s willing to doom the aspirations he has for his darling show. And the work has been piling up lately, put aside in favor of fussing over his best friend.

Ryan drives Shane home that evening, and they hang out for a bit, just like old times, pizza, popcorn and movies of questionable artistic and cultural value. It’s fun, debating the merits of convoluted plot devices, whetever a particular scene in a Lynch movie counts as a metaphor or is pure nonsense, like only film students can. But it’s not that long before Ryan starts compulsively checking time, his knee bouncing, the backlog of unfinished work sitting heavy in the back of his mind.

Shane reassures him that yes, he’ll be fine, go, prepare for our next episode, call if you need help doing research or coming up with some _real wild_ theories, he drawls with a wink. Ryan will rather nasally ingest a boxful of 5-hour-energy shots before he lets Shane taint his precious research with his yucky sceptic fingers, but he promises anyway, to ask for Shane’s help if he gets overwhelmed. Definitely. 

Before parting Shane drapes himself over Ryan in a mockery of a hug, presses his face in his hair and just stays like that for a while, breathing him in. There’s nothing overly soppy in the gesture, just an exhausted slouch as if Shane was simply tired of standing, but it’s such a raw action, it leaves Ryan aching, something torn open in his chest, leaking a trail from Shane’s door to the parking lot as he descends the apartament’s steps.

There isn’t anything he can do about it so Ryan flings himself into work to avoid fretting over the feeling. It’s a relief to enter his “zone”, complete focus overtakes all else, the dripping sensation in his chest retreats and he finds his awareness of time slipping, replaced by minor rushes of satisfaction over tasks completed. 

He works through the night and a good chunk of the next morning as well. He surfaces from the crunch drained but pleased about his progress. 

Ryan stumbles to his kitchen in a daze. There’s a marrow deep exhaustion in him, it feels good though. His mind has quieted down leaving him with vague feeling of senseless happiness. He perches on a countertop where a window is flooding the space with cheery sunlight and Ryan let’s it melt against his front. It’s a well needed break, for once he breathes in the peace and quiet and exhales the tension. 

A giant yawn nearly sprains his jaw then, so he hops off the counter, and pours himself some orange juice. He lingers a little still, enjoying the heat and checking his messages. He scrolls past his twitter mentions and the instagram alerts for now. There’s a few messages from his family and he takes the time to call his mom, chat a little bit and arrange their next family dinner. Next there’s spattering of messages from other friends, nothing requiring his immediate attention so he let’s those sit for now as well. 

Lastly, there’s a message from Shane. Sent at around nine am, the timestamp claims, it’s him urging Ryan to drop his work and go to sleep for once. A tired smile stretches his lips against the rim of his glass and his stomach flutters. 

He sends back a simple: “yeah yeah going zzz” then makes good on his promise.

…

He jerks awake unpleasantly. The couch’s rough fabric is scraping against his face and there’s a similarly grating ringing that makes his head pulse. Ryan scrambles from his couch, only managing to twist up in his blanket and tumble to the floor, one knee making a painful connection with the hardwood. 

He curses as his phone keeps ringing insistently. He’s already short on the patience when he finally reaches it but blanches at seeing the caller id.

“Sara?”

“Ryan! Thank goodness you picked up.” her voice is strained tight and scared, he’s never heard her sound like that. Ryan feels something begin to coil up right along her.

She breathes in the speaker, taking a moment to brace them both and when she speaks again it’s solemn.

“Shane’s been hospitalized.”

…

Ryan skids around a bend in a hallway, doing his best not to break out in a run inside of a hospital. He’s only marginally successful, pausing to catch his harried breath before he spots Sara.

She turns to him at the same time, having heard his footsteps. Her eyes are wide and teary, no doubt mirroring the spooked expression on Ryan’s own face. 

He rushes to her or she rushes to him, they end up in a crushing embrace. Sara immediately gets a vice grip on his biceps and Ryan is fiercely holding on to her slight frame as she is wracked with sobs. Ryan is thoroughly lost, he wants to cry too, but he’s too frozen by a seeping numbness. 

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” he’s torn between keeping his hold on Sara and letting his panic loose. He cranes his neck over Sara uselesly, like he is going to see Shane in the hallway; he doesn’t even know where the man is kept.

Sara let’s go of Ryan and wipes at her face. She’s sheepish at her tears and Ryan frowns, wraps a hand around her forearm to comfort her. She gathers herself with admirable speed, takes a shuddering breath before beginning to explain.

“Me and Shane had planned to go out for lunch today. You know. Talk.” the looks she gives him at that is full of pain. “He called me before we were to meet saying he’s not feeling too good, so I went to Shane’s place to check up on him and--”

Ryan rubs her arm calmingly as she swallows.

“He was in a bad state. Real bad. He was sweating and his breathing was all… and he kept insisting he was fine,” Sara shakes her head as if to banish a bad memory. “Then he passed out. It was horrible Ryan. I called an ambulance. They say his lung collapsed.”

Oh Jesus, it can’t be happening.

Ryan drops into a nearby chair, his limbs trembling. He rests his forehead on his hands.

“I’m signed up as his emergency contact so I came along, I’ve notified his parents and Scott already, but it’s going to be a while until they get here. I thought you should know as well.”

“Thank you, Sara,” he whispers on a shaky breath. 

It’s her turn to comfort him now, a gentle hand lands on his shoulder.

“The doctors are working on him right now. We just have to wait now, we’ll be notified if something changes.”

“Yeah.”

…

“...Wallis, I’m Mr. Madej’s intensive care specialist.”

A voice jolts Ryan’s consciousness out of the cotton it’s been swimming in. He lifts his head from his knees, his scratchy eyes refuse to focus on the man in a doctor’s coat who’s stood himself in front of Sara and him. He rubs them, gives his clouded brain a chance to fire up enough braincells for his legs to receive the message they have to stand. 

“I’m Sara, this is Ryan,” Sara is already up and introducing them.

Ryan is only able to nod along dumbly.

“Well, I am bringing you good news. We have successfully treated the lung damage Mr. Madej sustained, furthermore, the fall he’d taken did not result in a concussion.”

Before either of them can even exhale in relief, the doctor claps his hands, “And that is where the good news end! Are you two aware that the patient is suffering from an advanced case of Hanahaki disease?”

“Yes, we’re aware,” Sara answers for both of them again.

“Good. Most patients are reluctant to disclose the condition to their loved ones,” at this the doctors gaze turns scrutinizing.

“As you may know, the flowers themselves are not dangerous, if the patient can manage to expel them properly. It’s the stems and root system, their long term effects we have to worry about. In this case, a stem punctured lining of the left superior lobe. The damage is relatively moderate, patient was found not long after losing consciousness as far as we can tell, and was lucky to receive immediate treatment.”

“Now, I admit this is a breach of patient confidentiality, but in this case some liberties must be taken. I have it here in the record that Mr. Madej has undergone root extraction once before.” he adjusts his glasses at that, pointedly looking between Sara and Ryan, “To put it bluntly: I assume one of you is causing the exuberation of the patient’s condition?”

Ryan’s voice comes out as a croak, “That would me,”

The doctor nods back and hums.

“Well, Ryan, was it? I would like to have a word with you. My office if you please?” his expression has turned sharp and it feels like an order more so than a request. Ryan doesn’t like it at all. Sara’s fingers find his hand and give him an encouraging squeeze. He makes eye contact with her, there’s a question in her gaze that he rebuts with a shake of his head.

The doctor turns crisply on his heel and starts down the hall. They make a couple of turns and Ryan is soon following Dr. Wellis into a room alike the rest of the hospital, painted light green and incredibly bleak despite the sparse personal touches scattered as a perfunctory attempt at decorating. Ryans eyes fall to a solar powered swinging knick knack in the shape of a red potted flower as he seats himself opposite the doctor. His stomach lurches.

Dr. Wellis clears his throat and to draw attention and Ryan is relieved for the distraction.

The doctor shuffles some papers on his clipboard, a reassuringly human gesture from the otherwise unapproachable looking man. He looks at Ryan and slightly grimaces.

“I’ll be frank with you Ryan,” he sighs with all the weariness of the world, “Hanahaki is an extremely rare condition, one that impacts the people close to the sufferer in grievous ways. All medical issues do. Going forward we need to prioritize your and Sara’s wellbeing as well.”

He taps a page in front of him, “It says here Mr. Madej underwent root extraction in the september of 2016, were you aware of the condition then? When did it first start?”

Ryan fidgets in his seat, dragging words from his numb mind is a taxing undertaking.

“From some things he’s mentioned, I think it started in the spring of that year. I, uh, found out only about a month ago.”

“That’s helpful,” Wellis scribbles a note in a margin.

“So, spring 2016 was the onset of the condition, then removal on september. Then the condition crops up again, I estimate, a year later.” he drums his fingers and looks at Ryan over his glasses.

“I’m afraid this is all on Mr. Madej’s shoulders. The root extraction procedure negates any unwanted feelings on the recipient’s part. It’s a very interesting psychological phenomenon. But let’s not digress. Although the chances of this are rare, after the procedure it’s recommended to avoid the causator of those feelings, lest they return. He simply hasn’t taken the necessary precautions. And on the second occurence it seems he did not even attempt to curb it again.”

Ryan feels the tear in his chest throb painfully.

“Yeah, sounds like him. He’s… he always thinks if he ignores things they don’t exist,” he grips his own hand until the knuckles pop.

“He’s ignored this particular problem for too long. The roots have spread beyond what is safe to operate on. Either the roots come out of their own or they don’t come out at all.”

A silence like a high pitched note resounds in Ryan’s head. He sits there staring at the doctor and he doctor staring back. The doctor takes in Ryan for a moment then bends slightly to dig around one of the desks drawers. 

“This is why I called you in.” he places a narrow stack of clipped together papers in front of Ryan. “Hospital policy in Hanahaki cases is to recommend counselling to people close to them. Here’s a list of resources, contact information for a couple of therapists, all come highly recommended. I will be passing on the same to Sara. It’s important to start looking for closure early.”

Ryan bristles at the implication.

“It’s not like that!” he hisses to which the doctor only raises his eyebrows. “The only counselling needed here is for somebody to knock some sense into Madej’s overgrown head. If he can’t see what’s in front of him-” 

The outburst leaves Ryan panting. It’s bracing to have a thread of anger to hold on in the blankness that had suffocated him for so long.

“He’s not going to die,” he grits.

Wellis pauses for a second and sits back in his chair, spine straight. “I see. Well, counselling could still be of use.”

He passes the stack of papers to Ryan and gives him such a long and withering look that Ryan recalls his manners and takes them with an abashed apology.

“The patient is still under anesthesia, it could be hours before he wakes, we will be informing you if you-”

“I’ll wait here,”

“Mhh, I thought that might be the case.” Ryan gets the distinct impression the doctor is laughing at him, yet when he looks at him Wellis is blank faced. “Nevertheless, when Mr. Madej wakes, please, keep any emotional displays to minimum, yes? The patient can’t take much excitement in his state.”

Ryan only nods.

“Now, please call in Sara on your way out?”

…

“I can hear you creeping out there Ryan,” Shane’s voice is a throaty grumble but unmistakable, the lilting cadence has Ryan resting his forehead against the doorframe in relief. It’s been a long wait, Shane had been out for the entire night during which Ryan had managed to convince himself he wouldn’t be hearing it again.

But it’s morning now and as he steps into the hospital room the exhaustion and emotions makes his knees wobble. He takes in the room, the four beds, the only other occupants - an old man doing his best to ignore them, Sara who had come in first while Ryan had been hesitating, taking up the chair besides Shane’s bed. And of course the man himself.

He stops and just stares at him. His shoulders sag as if all his strings have been cut. 

Shane’s all loopy smiles and crescenting eyes, splayed in his cot as if without a care. He sobers up a little at Ryan’s struck expression though.

Shane pats the side of his bed and Ryan stumbles closer. He takes the chair opposite Sara and gracelessly drops into it, his head is too heavy and he thunks it on the bed, the thin blanket cushioning his forehead.

A cautious hand slides into his hair and he sags further.

Sara clears her throat, “Okay. I can talk to you later. You guys obviously have some stuff to work out,” She doesn’t sound too angry and Ryan is grateful for that. He doesn’t think he has much more energy left too feel guilty anyways. 

She gets up and leaves with a “Be good, boys.”

As she passes Shane taps her wrist, a light, subdued touch, “I’m sorry Sar.”

She only offers a wince of smile as she exits.

Ryan if left with the beeping of hospital machinery, the scratch of fabric against his feverish forehead and the weight of Shane’s hand oh his head. He thinks about surrendering to the lull of it all, he could crawl in besides Shane, it would be like every romcom ever. He huffs a laugh at the wistful images his brain throws at him. 

The hand travels to the back of his neck and long, long fingers spread over it soothingly. The pressure is just right and Ryan groans, promptly after which he remembers they’re not alone in the room. He bolts upright and shoots a glance at the old man, who’s doing a commendable job minding his own business. Ryan sighs and reclines back into his own chair, let’s his head fall back so he doesn’t have to look at Shane. He can’t hear his thoughts over the pitter patter of his heart when Shane’s brown eyes are looking back at him.

“Ryaaaan. You look like shit pal.”

Ryan straightens up in outrage. 

Maybe he is looking a bit rough. He’s vaguely aware of having spilled coffee on his jeans at some point during the hospital stay, his hair is a floppy, unstyled mess at which he’s kept worrying all night, and he hasn’t had a good nights rest in so long, the bags beneath his eyes must be visible from space. Still, he’s not going to take it lying down.

“Look who’s talking! You’re so conked out on painkillers you’re going cross eyed. Good God sir, they’re leaving the Earth’s orbit.” 

Shane only exhales with amusement, obviously trying to avoid moving too much. Ryan does not miss the lines of strain materializing around the man’s mouth, so he drops the attempts at humor. They lapse into silence.

“I’m so mad at you,” Ryan offers conversationally.

“Why’s that.”

“Your doctor pulled me aside for a talk.”

“Ah. So physician-patient privacy doesn’t exist in this day and age. We are all having jolly little tete-a-tetes left, right and center. I should sue them,” Shane huffs.

“I’ll sue you for being an ass.”

“Thanks, Ry, you’re on your A game today. What fresh nuggets of knowledge did you glean?”

“He just cleared up the general picture for me. ”

“Mhm,” Shane visibly withdraws, his gaze turning absent.

“Shane.”

“Eh?”

“Shane,” Ryan kicks at the bedframe a little to get Shane’s full attention again.

“You know you could have told me, right? You didn’t have to suffer alone for that long.”

He gets only a shrug in response to that. Shane ducks his head, not fast enough for Ryan to miss the wet shine in them. That’s unacceptable, the big guns will have to come out after all. Ryan stands.

“Scoot aside big guy. Visitation hours are only so long, I reckon there’s still time to catch a nap,” Shane blinks at him not grasping his meaning at first. Ryan makes a shoo motion with his hands and Shane’s eyebrows rise comically.

“You cad! Such improper behaviour, and in public no less! What will the people think!”

Ryan only grins as he climbs in next to Shane, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He settles in, careful of Shane and the IV drip. It’s a tight fit, bed definitely not made for two grown men to play pillowfort in. But who’s complaining. Not Ryan. And apparently not Shane either.

Ryan has to fold his arms up to accommodate both of their shoulders, but the moment he’s horizontal the drowsiness he’d pushed to the background slams into him fully. He wiggles a little more and closes his eyes. 

Shane leans over his ear to whisper, “I don’t know Ry, Stu over there looks like a rattler.”

Ryan doesn’t even crack an eye.

“Don’t care Shane. Too tired. Sleep now.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok no jokes this time fellas, me sleepey. ive been frustrated over seeing the weak points in the writing but not having the mind powers to overcome them, then consequently getting reluctant to write at all. but ive got the power of spite and a sleeping schedule worse than [this version of] ryan's on my side so!!!! we rocking on!!!!
> 
> ALSO im SO amazed at all the kudoses(100!!! *jigs*) and all yall's nice comments for this goblin child of mine tho! Q_Q thank!


	9. if i love you, is that a fact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> or a weapon?

There a smouldering coal between Shane's lungs.

He did not call for it, he did not invite it to make its home in the pit of his chest. Yet it springs up one day, is born within his breast and that's that.

It's quiet at first, a sneak thief, snatching glimpses of Shane's days, moments that no one else would find significant but the little coal is greedy for. Here's a low peal from Ryan's laugh. The thing latches onto it, twists it into something hot and secret and weaves it into itself.

Another day, another time, Ryan's eyes gleam with mischief. His chocolate eyes drip happiness and the fire drinks those droplets up, flares like it's lighter fluid to it.

It's a slow process but it sneaks up on Shane. 

He only truly understands the fast one it’s pulled on him one november afternoon when he’s laid out by a flu. It would be a great shame to his entire bloodline, if they were to know. Just two years ago he would have been just dandy after foregoing a jacket in a 50 degree weather. But the California sun has baked the memory of real cold out of him and an unexpected freezing rain has done it's best to remind him what winter means.

The fact is, Shane is a shivering and sweating mess by the next day, barely able to suspend his nose leaking long enough to call in sick and fire off a message to Ryan. He doesn’t remember much of those exchanges through the haze of his fever, but what he does remember is Ryan’s earnest face as he shows up at lunch time, a container of chicken noodle soup in hand. 

It does something odd to his chest, him there in Shane’s apartment. Shane had always thought his home away from Illinois was a little bare, a little lacking in color, but with Ryan there he thinks he could learn to love the grey couch and the off-white walls. 

Ryan mocks him for catching a cold with his frequently self-lauded ‘Midwestern constitution’, but he stays for nearly an hour, swaddles him in enough blankets Shane is left perching on his couch like a puffed up owl hatchling. Ryan makes sure he eats his soup, and watches half an episode of Office with him, until Shane’s head droops and he finds himself leaning bodily into Ryan.

“Okay big guy, get off me, I gotta get back to work,” Ryan’s fingers twitch as he gets up, bids goodbye and leaves in the space of time it takes for Shane to blink.

The banked flame in Shane's chest stutters and drops and flips and _soars _. And something green niggles along it.__

___Oh. That’s a funny feeling_ , Shane thinks._ _

__It burns brighter than the fever, and he wonders how something so monumental could live in his narrow chest without breaking it._ _

__…_ _

__It’s fine._ _

__Really._ _

__It has to be fine. There are so many reasons Shane can’t let what he feels to show, not least of which is the genuine adoration he sees between Ryan and Helen. Ryan is not that way, he would never be, he tells himself. Shane is just a little lonely, hanging on to the closest connection he has in this city of millions, where everything is so unlike his previous life._ _

__The sphere of burning in his chest is not listening to the little pep talks he gives himself though. It’s gotten bold, flames bright whenever it pleases. Ryan laughs with his mouth full of fries and gross potato bits spray over the table, he gets in a heated debate with Sara over something dumb about aliens, loses his cool spectacularly. It’s all complete nonsense, but the burning persists, grows. _I want that,_ it whispers to him. _Look how bright he is._ __

____

____

__Shane averts his eyes when the call becomes too insistent. That’s all he can do to not melt, let the fire poke through his ribs._ _

__It only grows and Shane fears he can’t keep it on the down low anymore, he tightens an invisible hold on that bright ball in his chest. Keep it there, don't let it float away, don't let it come too close to the surface or Ryan will see, and Ryan will know, and like the actual sun it will burn him. Ryan will turn away._ _

__Green tendrils reach up from within him to hold it down, to keep it anchored. They thread through Shane's very being, reinforce his bones and he's a remade man, stronger, solid, a man that won't burst from the light he's keeping inside of him._ _

__Now it is all fine when Ryan just comes out and says: “Every moment with Shane is great,” in front of a live audience of thousands like it’s not the least bit embarrassing to say it like that. Shane can see the side of Ryan’s face from the angle he’s sitting. He sees how his cheek is dimpled by the dopey smile he’s wearing, shoulders hunched. Maybe just a touch embarrassed. The fire in his chest roars, threatens to spill out from his face. But the green is there to hold it still, hold it steady._ _

__Red blooms in the back of Shane's throat._ _

__But as long as Shane holds together, as long as he can look back at Ryan with a nonchalant expression, and the bonfire is firmly tamped down, he can deal with it._ _

__..._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tis a shorty that just didn't really fit in the next chapter theme and pov wise. 
> 
> anyways 2k19, yeah? become the monster, babes!!!
> 
> P.S.: imnotamosquito i see u brother lmao


	10. what we found between those hills

Ryan busts into the room carried by momentum.

He’d passed the nurses station at a brisk jog, lest he be pinned to wall by a particularly sharp glare. The nurses have collectively decided that Ryan is more trouble than it’s worth, a menace set on making poor ‘Shayney’s’ life more difficult. 

It’s the other way around, really. They would know if they had spent a more substantial amount of time in his company, had had to listen to Shanes poorly crafted witticisms for as long as Ryan has. As it is, for now Shane has got them all bewitched with his sad, downturned eyes and oddly charming way of speech. The nurses trip over themselves to rustle Shane’s hair, slip him extra pillows and a dozen other small favors. Ryan is left huffing in annoyance whenever one of the nurses conspirationaly pushes a jello cup in Shane’s hands as if Ryan is itching to steal it.

Look, he tried it _once_ , no need to hold it against him forever.

Shane laughs and laughs, the silent war of mutual antipathy the main source of his amusement in the hospital. It’s entirely too lovely to Ryan’s ears. It makes making fool of himself worth it, Ryan thinks to himself. He wonders if the man goes around enamouring every single person he meets just to relish in the ensuing chaos. 

The hoarse sound of Shane’s laughter chips away at Ryan’s annoyance every time until he gives in and smiles too. Shane’s voice is an abused rasp but as ironic as it is, he seems happier here in the hospital. Ryan is startled to realize that at some point without him noticing strain lines of pain had become a fixture in the landscape of Shane’s face. But they’re gone for the most part now, smothered by painkillers and a cleared conscience.

Shane’s mom and brother had flown in in to visit after the first night. Ryan watched the heartfelt reunion from the sides, too consumed by guilt to join in but unwilling to stray far from Shane’s bedside. 

He gets pulled in an obligatory hug nevertheless. They pat him on the back and thank him for being such a good friend, for taking care of Shane, and Ryan burns with it. Shane had decided to not tell his family the real reason he’d been hospitalized. He’d made up a story of getting a bad bronchitis and overworking, smudging up details where possible. But Ryan feels like the Madejs look at Ryan and see the shiftiness in the set of his shoulders, can smell the guilt wafting off of him and know the truth as it is. Yet they only shoot significant looks between them both and where Ryan expects to find veiled hostility and blame, he finds only fondness, as if he’s long been part of the family in their eyes.

The doctors had done a number of procedures so that Shane’s agonizing attempts to draw breath wouldn’t reopen the internal wounds. He’s on a cocktail of painkillers and muscle relaxants that make it so his uncontrollable hacking fits are reduced to shallow little jerks. 

Despite that, the coughing is still taxing on him. It’s more drawn out, takes so damn long for him to regain a clear breath like that, to dislodge the flowers in his airways. They tear at his lungs coming up and he’s always exhausted by the end of the fit. Ryan holds Shane’s hand through the convulsions, when he can. His other hand keeps a death grip on the bed railing all the while counting the rattling breaths inbetween. He hates it all, the red blooms and redder blood hidden away in wadded up fistfuls of tissues. 

He hates hyacinths now, the smell and the curly little florets, like a hundred mocking eyes, reminding that time is in short supply for them. Could the flowers Shane keeps coughing up turn into something else overnight, adjusting to Ryan’s preferences, every new one instantly becoming despised? Shift into lilacs, then irises, then… Ryan shudders. Maybe he hates _all_ flowers now. 

Be as it may flowers are what greets him first when he enters the room. A collection of bouquets surround Shane’s corner of the room and as much discomfort they bring to Ryan, Shane seems to savour them as the symbolic sign of the affection his family and friends has for him. He’s drowsy but bright eyed, sitting legs up on his bed. 

“Hey big guy, ” Ryan pants. 

Shane’s already changed into the street clothes Ryan had brought in earlier. He sketches a lazy salute at Ryan that comes of as more of a goofy flop.

“Hello Bergmeister,” he draws out the ‘o’.

Ryan shuffles closer and leans a hip against the bedframe.

“‘Sup. You ready to get out of here?”

“Let’s bounce, baby.”

…

It’s a hassle and a half getting both Shane and his cobbled together flower shrine in Ryan’s car. It’s the first time in a week the taller man is allowed past the hospital ward and he’s eager to stretch his legs. Bogged down by the dozen bouquets Shane insisted on taking with him, Ryan has a hard time keeping up with the doped out stork.

There’s checkout and a detour through the pharmacy to fill Shane’s painkiller prescription, and another detour when Shane, high as a kite, almost wanders into traffic and then they’re in Ryan’s car, the flowers pilled in the backseat, getting crushed under their own weight. 

Ryan is reluctant to take Shane home. He had done his best to keep his sight on Shane during his entire hospital stay, and even when he had to leave, go home to shower and nap, or to deal with some urgent work issues, he could be confident in the knowledge that at least there was someone looking out for his friend at the hospital. Now he clenches his fingers on the steering wheel, and breaks out in sweat at the idea of leaving Shane alone for even a minute.

He eyes Shane in the shadows of the parking garage and the desperation in him surges. He clears his throat.

“Hey, uh, I bet you’re really bored of that hospital food. I was thinking we could grab some burgers or, or Chipotle...?” ,the sentence lilts up uncertainly at the end. He’s not sure what he’s doing but he’s damn determined to do something.

Shane hums.

“God, yes, and coffee. Ryan, I am ready to drink so much coffee, you have no idea.”

Ryan tsks in sympathy and pulls out from the underground parking. 

“I thought you had all the nurses wrapped around your finger, they didn’t manage to sneak you some?”

“No sir, the extent of their sympathy stops at providing _forbidden bean substances_ to patients.”

Ryan snorts, “Don’t say it like that!”

“And I don’t recall you being very helpful in that regard either,” he glares at him. His gaze sorta swims around not managing to land on Ryan fully.

“Hey, I wasn’t about to make myself more of an enemy to the nursing staff by smuggling you coffee.”

“Boo! Where’s the panache, where’s the compassion for your fellow man!”

“Oh shut up Shane, you’d probably snitch on me for the drama anyways.”

Shane pulls a face as if conceding the point and Ryan barks a laugh.

They go get greasy burgers and fries and eat it in the parking lot, propped up against the car’s hood. Ryan is drinking the last of his soda, tracking the sun where it’s beginning it’s downward climb when an idea hits Ryan. He slowly eats another fry and shifts his gaze a fraction to look at Shane who’s inhaling shitty drive-thru coffee with a downright rapturous expression. He keeps chewing and turning over his thoughts. 

One time he’d asked Shane: _‘do you not know how love works?’_. 

The memory is not a vivid one, at the time it was just par for the course banter. But the moment is caught on camera, in much higher clarity than Ryan’s own brain can call up. 

It had hit him one night last week. Sleep had refused to come and Ryan had just lain in bed, waiting until morning, until visiting hours rolled around, resting his body even if his mind was unable to.

The question gets caught in his aimlessly drifting conscience and Ryan jerks up, starts patting pillows for his phone. The screen lights up and his fingers are slow. He doesn’t want to see but his stubbornness pushes past his self-preservation. 

_“Do you not know how love works?”_ the on-screen Ryan asks.

There’s a pause. Shane pulls a goofy expression, shoulders rising in a full bodied counter question.

_“Maybe I don’t.”_

Ryan of the past is already looking away, smiling at the camera, another good bit bagged. The video cuts, interrupts the stillness after the exchange. Was the pause really that tense on that day? Ryan doesn’t remember

He hunches over the screen and double-taps the left side of screen. _Take me back._

He listens again, ten seconds back, talking, talking, then a three second bit that makes him cringe, a creeping cold settles over him even under the duvet.

It could be Ryan’s imagination but there’s a far off look on Shane’s face a millisecond before the cut. He can’t even consciously tell which part it is-- the body language, the expression or the well hidden tension, there’s sadness there and Ryan damns himself for being so obtuse and Shane for being a far too good an actor.

It’s self-flagatory in nature when he taps back again. And again.

How do you make somebody listen when you say 'I love you'? 

What does Ryan know, maybe Shane doesn’t know how love works. A person is only capable to define love in the way they have felt it. He doesn’t know about Shanes previous experiences in that regard, that’s a topic too heavy for every day conversations between friends. There’s a lot of space in that big head of his, who even knows what kind of abandonment issues live there. But clearly something is getting lost in the translation when Ryan opens his mouth. 

Yet, Ryan is sure that there’s a way, a set of words or actions that can break through the complex layers of Shane. There must be. There are many ways to love after all, Ryan can find a common language between them.

He bumps Shane’s knee with his, “Let’s go for a ride.”

Shane straightens up from the curl he’s had over the coffee cup and blinks owlishly at Ryan. The setting sun blazes behind him, haloing his hair and lighting up his eyes-- brown on brown turned to gold. He’s managed to get a drop of coffee on the bridge of his nose and Ryan’s hand twitches.

“Can we get a rain check on that? It’s been a rough week for us both. I’ve had my coffee and all I want now is to get reacquainted with my bigfoot sized bed,” he demonstratively jawns at that, blank of all expression save for a crooked smile. 

_We don’t have the time._

Ryan lets his hand reach up and thumb away the droplet from Shane’s nose. The rest of his fingers settle on the side of his face and Shane’s breathing catches. He’s so absurdly easy for him. Any other time Ryan would tease him for it, but fondness softens his smirk into something that makes Shane’s pulse jump under his fingers. 

“I want to show you something. It’s important.”

Shane looks like he wants to stammer, but he quickly crumbles under whatever he reads in Ryan’s face.

“Okay.”

…

Ryan drives out to the hills. 

He chooses a meandering route away from highways, taking them past vineyards and into the beginnings of the bush. With each twist of the road he feels himself coil closer to an understanding of some sort. Being in the car, knowing that there’s nothing they can do, nowhere they can escape each other until the ride is over is a comfort. Empty ground and rapidly darkening sky stretches in front of him and he gets the sense that he’ll know when he’s ready to stop.

He could talk with Shane in the car but that would give what he means to say an impermanent quality. He wants his words to stay with them even when the car ride is over. So he keeps quiet, knowing there will be no turning back when he starts talking.

It’s a long drive and Shane dozes besides him, each time he startles awake he looks more clear eyed than before, the medicine wearing off.

Ryan comes to a stop when the last sliver of sunlight disappears beyond the horizon. He exits the car and keeps walking until the ticks of a cooling engine stay behind and the night and cicada songs submerge him fully.

Shane steps up to him stretching and yawning.

“If you planned to finally off me and burry me in the desert, I gotta give it to ya, you’ve chosen a perfect place,” Shane jokes.

Ryan inhales the dark, stays silent. He doesn’t know whetever the desert makes Shane feel the same sense of contentment it does for Ryan. His childhood memories were probably a sharp contrast to Ryan’s: made on a backdrop of pine trees, or maybe, the picket fences of a suburbia and cornfields. He sniggers at the thought but the sound comes out far too despondent. 

“I thought. I don’t know. That I’d find what to say when we reach the end? But,” Ryan shrugs and looks at Shane wild eyed. The open sky seems too vast now, instead of shielding them from the rest of the world as he’d hoped it is going to swallow them up.

Shan looks back searchingly.

“Only means we haven’t reached the end, buddy,” he gestures to a nearby slope of a hillside, from behind which Ryan can see the city lights rising.

“Let’s take a hike?” Shane’s eyes twinkle.

Ryan takes Shane’s hand.

…

The hill rises gradually, it’s like climbing towards heaven’s gates, Ryan thinks. With each step the glow from far below rises higher and higher, making the darkness around them impenetrable. 

When the view of the street grid, cast in light, emerges Shane’s breathing has gone heavy, even the exertion of a shallow climb too much for him at the state he’s in. Ryan steers Shane to sit on a conveniently placed boulder and sags besides him taking in the sight for a minute.

It’s nothing he hasn’t seen many times before. The endless sprawl of manmade paths of fire and the blackness of the ocean to the side. It’s the company, the tight grip of long fingers around his own that make him see it all with fresh eyes, feel filled up with wonder.

“Pretty neat, huh,” he whispers.

“Mmm,” Shane looks at Ryan and grins, “Did you take me on a date again? A meal and then sightseeing,” he laughs, “I’ll have you know, McDonald’s is not an acceptable date location. I don’t know who you’ve been dating before, but I’m not that kind of gal.” 

“Oh my god, shut up, I don’t take dates to McDonald’s” Ryan flushes. “I didn’t plan this. I just didn’t want you to--”

He trails off. His hand sizes up around Shane’s.

“You didn’t want what, Ryan?”

A thumb is drawing circles on his palm, and Ryan trips up on who’s supposed to comfort who in this situation. 

He works past the stubborn thing that keeps spasming in his neck and closes his eyes. The light of civilization is bright enough to press through his eyelids, but muted. He could pretend it’s moonlight if he wanted to. Moonlight and a sky full of stars, the handful of ones he can spot from his own backyard but also ones only visible fifty miles outside L.A. proper. 

“You know, I realized recently that I have this image in my head. I have it all planned out. It’s usually pretty centered on work stuff. All the things I want Unsolved to become, that I want to achieve for myself. Sure, some of it are pretty far fetched ambitions, but... we’ll live and see.

And then there’s you too. I-- I had this dream, fantasy if you will, that when Unsolved ends, whenever that happens you’d come with me onto the next thing. That you’d always be my co-host,” Ryan laughs now, embarrassed. “It’s really stupid. I used to tell myself I’m an idiot for getting overly attached and-- Look. What I’m saying is - I’ve always… I’ve wanted to keep you as close as I could since I met you.”

He opens his eyes and tips his head towards sky. Shane has taken back his hand at some point but Ryan lets that bother him no more than the coldness of the stone underneath him.

“I don’t care what way that happens. I’m invested, okay? Like, we could get married tomorrow and I would be happy as long the reception has no fucking flowers. I’ve had enough flowers to last a lifetime.” he fights to keep his voice soft on the last part.

”Do you get it now?”

Literal cricket sounds fill the silence after Ryan’s speech. He turns towards Shane and sighs at his turned head. 

“Shane. Where are you?”

“I’m here, Ryan, just..”

Ryan waits him out.

“I think you… love me. But you’re not in love with me.”

“Well you’re wrong.”

_Easy as that._

Shane turns to him with a wrinkle between his brows. He searches Ryan’s face with such an exaggerated disbelief it’s hilarious. It’s rare to see Shane so clearly bothered by a sentence, he prefers to laugh over whatever misstep or offense the opposing party has given. It looks like he’ll start stuttering in outrage any moment now so laughter bursts from Ryan unbidden.

“I’m not going to repeat myself if you’re not going to listen,” Ryan says around a lopsided smile.

Shane stares wide eyed until Ryan’s giggling fades. 

“So, I intend to show you,” he reaches out slowly, more expectant than hesitant, “if you’ll let me.”

When Shane doesn’t pull away Ryan grips his forearm with assurance and after a moment’s pause slides his hand lower, around his wrist. Shane flips his hand and tangles their fingers. It feels like a closing of a pact and Ryan beams up at him. Shane only stares more and works his throat.

“I think you should take me home, Ry,” he whispers, voice catching.

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, right, it’s getting late.”

They stumble back into darkness.

When they drive off, Shane leaves the flowers lying in the road dust.

…

It’s not instantaneous. Of course it’s not, one stilted conversation on top of a hill, is not enough to brush past all the built up insecurities of a noted sceptic Shane Madej.

But afterwards.

It’s not exactly slow either.

…

Ryan goes home with Shane. The man stares unimpressed as Ryan toes of his sneaks in Shane’s hallway like he belongs there, but the raised eyebrows do little in the face of Ryan’s determination. He straightens up and directs a shamefully loving gaze back at Shane. The heat in his eyes is a little played up, but not by much. It’s well worth the extra effort when Shane’s face scrunches up as if disgusted and he leaves the room with flushed ears.

He does honor the unspoken agreement they’ve tentatively formed though. Stops doubting Ryan, in his own way. When he goes to bed, the bedroom door is left upen and Ryan doesn’t hesitate to slide in after him.

...

Shane makes a half choked sound in the darkness of his bedroom. 

Ryan had been demonstratively spread out on the middle of the bed and slowly drifting off for a while now. For once sleep was clinging to him, lured in by the soothing rhythm of Shane’s breathing-- it’s loath to rescind it’s hold on him now. The whimper makes him slowly blink his eyes open.

Shane is curled up on his side, facing away from him. Ryan stares at where Shane’s shoulder blades are pressing into his sleep shirt like the wings of a baby bird. Ryan thinks he’s misheard, is about to go back to sleep, but no, the other man is lying too still to be sleeping. And then--

“... am I good enough for you?” Shane whispers.

Suppressed by a duvet and mumbled as it is, the question rings out clear and harsh to Ryan’s tired mind.

Coming from Shane it’s akin a sacrifice. A bloody little thing that might as well have been torn from Shane’s flesh by his own hand. He drags it out and lays it at Ryan’s feet in supplication. A insecurity put into words. Maybe Shane’s banking on Ryan being asleep, when he whispered his doubts do the darkness. And it’s a good instinct, it really is, Ryan is failing to scrap together a coherent thought.

But he gets it, his heart does. It’s beats a double beat and Ryan is wants so badly to tread carefully, to find the right words. But the night is not his friend, with things hiding in the dark he doesn’t fully understand. Ryan fears to make a misstep, to say something that will make Shane shy away again. 

Ryan rises up on an elbow.

He doubts there’s a reassurance he’d be able to come up with, even at his best, that would put Shane’s mind at ease. He’s tried words before.

Ryan doesn’t even have to move himself much, it’s the easiest thing in the world to cross the inches between them and tug Shane around and against himself. He grumbles a vague assent into Shane’s shoulder, slides an arm diagonally over Shane’s chest and that’s it for the night. 

…

In truth Ryan had thought showing affection for a guy would be somehow different, but it’s really not and he’s mad at himself for being for even thinking that for so long.

In most ways it stays business as usual for them. They do the same little things to make each other happy and laugh. They show up to work at the same time, more often than not having spent the night in the same bed. It’s not a new thing. They used have movie marathons and subsequent sleepovers at each other’s homes about once a month _before_. There’s more touching these days though, and the intensity of his yearning for it is what knocks Ryan’s breath out. 

But nevertheless no one seems to notice that a change has happened.

When Shane motions Ryan over to look at somethings on his monitor Ryan drapes his arms over the other guy’s shoulders. For him it’s a charged moment, hyper awareness of all that expanse of _Shane_ under him making him jittery, and yet it doesn’t seem to cause a single batted eye in the office. 

He puts more of his weight on Shane’s shoulders and laughs against the side of his head.

“Oh my god, have we always been so obvious?”

“What are you talking about?”, Shane turns his head to look up at him.

The open expression and proximity is too much for Ryan. He stops himself before he does something too obvious for even their jaded co-workers, disentangles and waves away Shane’s question. 

Still, sometimes Shane gets overwhelmed too. There’s nights when his bedroom door closes behind him with a click, and Ryan knows better than to push. 

Sometimes Ryan goes back to his flat alone, but sometimes Shane comes with him. And then one night he shows up at Ryan’s when the clock is showing some deeply offending number. It’s one of those nights Shane had ditched Ryan, but he thinks he understands the catlike nature of the man better now. Ryan can get intense at times, and Shane’s poorly accustomed to dealing with the full brunt of that intensity, the dissonance between it and his inhibitions threatening to snap something in his head. Ryan himself feels raw sometimes when he focuses on his feelings too much. Shane would come to him himself when he feels more grounded.

He stands on his doorstep now, shuffles awkwardly, head ducked and eyes wary. 

It’s a whole new territory for Ryan. He’d left Shane’s flat only about five hours ago and here he is again as if even that short of a separation has made him miss Ryan. It feels like something Ryan would do, not Shane. Never Shane. He gawks at this strange apparition.

“M’sorry for waking you, I should have--”, Shane’s about to say he should go home but bites his tongue to stop the words. 

He stands there looking deeply uncomfortable, as if torn between two equally strong forces. He looks like a man at his breaking point, Ryan thinks.

There’s a torrent of apologies held behind Shane’s teeth and Ryan is not interested in hearing any of them. 

“Come on in,” he kicks his enterance door open wider and trudges back in the direction of his bed.

He leans against a wall to watch Shane fold miles and miles down to undo his bootlaces. 

“I shoulda made a key for you ages ago, huh,” Ryan idly remarks and interrupts himself with an expansive jawn. He doesn’t notice the way Shane freezes up and glances at Ryan. 

Shane’s thoughtful stare has turned impish by the time Ryan’s done. He’s doing this whole song and dance as if he’d come to Ryan on a social call instead of a good ol’ cuddle and it’s making Ryan roll his eyes. Whatever. He’s allowed to be childish too.

“Aw look at you-- too sleepy to even grump properly,”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the morning smart guy. You’re my pillow tonight so shush.”

Shane is all smiles at that. The man looks… it’s difficult for Ryan to explain in adequate words. Pleased and fond, and bright, and a million other adjectives. Stupid maybe. Drunk.

Shane steps into his space and Ryan reaches out, brushes his hands against all the places he’s wanted to touch but couldn’t in the day. The hollow of Shane’s throat, the ridge of his jaw, he digs his fingers in the fabric of Shane’s sweater, not yet bold enough to quest underneath it. He feels drunk himself now, hooks one arm around Shane’s neck _for balance_ and his stomach flutters as Shane whispers _okay, okay Ry_ , in his hair, helpless and on a breath like a laugh, the way he does when Ryan is animatedly talking about his newest paranormal research project, or recounting a highlight from the most recent Lakers game, like the subject matter is foreign to him but he can’t help being swept away by the enthusiasm. Shane nudges at him and slowly coaxes him backwards.

Ryan had had a fair share of fiery tumbles towards bedroom with someone. And this is that but something else entirely as well. He tries to stay calm, even out his breathing, but it sounds dangerously like pants in his own ears and he struggles to retain some semblance of a cool head.

He thinks this means different things to Shane, who lives in his mind so much. Ryan could probably kiss Shane right now, kiss him and press him into his bed, see how much further he could take it. Shane wouldn’t be opposed, wouldn’t mind even. But the man’s chest still rattles with the weeds of his doubts, and Ryan can’t. Can’t let his dick do the thinking when there’s so much on the line. He knows he’s treating Shane like a fragile egg, but in some ways he’s really far more delicate than Ryan.

So he doesn’t push, just gently tugs Shane under the sheets and bids his hands to behave.

Ryan content enough to just to be close when they find the kind of sleep configuration accommodating both Shane’s length and Ryan’s tendencies to kick. Ryan groggily drums three fingers on Shane’s breastbone-- he’s so aware of the growth underneath he thinks he can feel the roots and stalks twisting by the way of Shane’s sleep breathing. He places a kiss on the man’s collarbone as he falls asleep.

…

He feels like he’s closed his eyes for all of five minutes when Shane twitches violently and slides out from beneath Ryan as carefully as he can. He wants to groan and protest but Shane is already moving away and Ryan closes his eyes for a minute more. 

Something is not right. His cracks one eye open and realizes he’s alone in the room, has been for a while, if the faded warmth besides him is a marker. He wakes a bit more and spots the light coming from the bathroom.

Fuck.

Ryan crosses to it. He thought the flowers had… settled down sort of. Not gone, no, but Shane hadn’t seemed as taxed lately. Ryan had been blinded by hope, that Shane’s body was calming down to let the two of them play house, but here they are again. 

Shane’s down on the tile, sucking air in fast. He’s panicked, like the next breath won’t come for a while and then he’s bowing forcibly. It’s not even a heave or cough, it’s as if he’s trying to purge the lungs from his body entirely.

Ryan goes down besides Shane and hovers his hand by his shoulder. He’s never seen Shane in such a bad state and he’s terrified that touching will make it worse somehow. Double fuck. It’s all red and Ryan’s vision is swimming, he’s so fucking terrified.

“I’m calling 911, hold on,”

“Ry-- stop--,” Shane gurgles and he’s back to it again, cut short by his chest contracting on itself.

“No, no, no, fuck no! We’re going to hospital, Your punctured lung is going to reopen like this!”

Shane is shaking his head and grasping in the vague direction of Ryan until he gets his hand around his. He gives him a brief, too tight squeeze until he has to snatch it back and brace his body against the next outflood of flowerets and green-gray macerated chunks.

Ryan keeps the number dialed but doesn’t press ‘call’ yet. It’s stupid, Shane is stupid for always refusing help and Ryan is stupid for not being able to refuse Shane. The guy can’t squeeze in a word between his horrible, breath stealing heaving, yet he has enough energy to shake his head, be prideful about this of all things. 

Ryan tears at his hair but stays on the floor. He wants to go closer to Shane badly, hold his hand or stroke his back, tighten his arms around his middle and ride the fit out together. He can’t bring himself to. His touch wouldn’t be helping Shane, only break Ryan further. So he hides his face in his arms and tries to tune out the horrible sounds reverberating between the walls of his tiny bathroom.

Shane struggles on for a long, long while. He retches and chokes and trembles for what seems like hours. Ryan stays there with him, in case _something_ happens, keeps his phone ready.

And then it’s silence.

No retching, no garbled breathing, no nothing.

Ryan’s own breathing picks up as he raises his head from his arms, his brain is screaming, and silence is screaming and Shane is staring back at him incredulously.

Shane’s breathing is easy, there’s no sign of the constant rattle of before as he takes great big lungfuls of air and haltingly brings his fingers against his sternum. He fists a hesitant hand in the front of his shirt, as if to touch what's underneath and inside. 

“Ryan?” Shane’s voice comes faint, he coughs a little bit, then clears his throat.

Ryan is rising to a half crouch already, tipping forwards.

“Ryan! Holy hell, I don’t-- ”

There it is, a cautious sort of hope is sparking in Shane’s eyes, Ryan reads it immediately and an answering feeling rises in him as well. He scoots forward, closer to Shane, a grin threatening to split his face. 

“It’s gone?” Ryan asks, just to hear it be said.

Shane works his throat, swallows. 

“I--? I think so. God, I forgot what breathing normally feels like...”

He looks so comical, almost offended, Ryan wheeze a little and he’s nearly in his lap already but closer, he has to get closer. He tangles both hands in the hair at the nape of Shane’s neck and--

“Yeah, I bet,” he’s too close for anything but whispering, a hot surge of air batting against Shane’s face.

He kisses the corner of Shane's mouth, stubble tickling his lips. It’s testing, just a point of pressure to get a feel for it and his overjoyed smile is not letting him put in a more serious effort. 

Shane pushes at his chest to put some distance between their faces.

“Dude what is wrong with you, I just finished puking,” Shane pulls a grimace but looks stupidly pleased underneath it.

Ryan only laughs. He’s becoming slightly untethered, lightheaded with the unexpected relief. He presses his fingertips in Shane’s cheeks as a substitute for a kiss.

“That didn’t seem to be stopping you last time,”

Shane frowns. 

“The bar. You kissed me in that bathroom. Also right after puking,” Ryan adds helpfully and not so helpfully sniggers in Shane’s face.

At that Shane bristles. He slides his hands around Ryans waist and oh, okay, that’s new and very exciting. 

“That’s different. We were both too drunk to remember… the finer details” which, fair enough, is true. Ryan’s sense memories from that night are mostly the taste of tequila and pomegranate, then gin and sorrow. 

He’d get bummed out from the residual distress of that evening, but Shane’s long, long fingers are mapping arcs across Ryan’s flank and his brain is fizzling and sputtering at the sensation, his thoughts scatter at every new point of contact. It’s better here, in the moment, his brain is telling him, and he agrees.

“Besides, I did that largely out of anger, which-- I’m gonna try something different this next time, yeah?” there’s quiet assurance in Shane’s words.

“Oh? You better hurry up then.”

Shane presses his forehead against Ryan’s and hums. They’re a pile on the floor now, legs and arms entangled, unsure where one starts and the other ends. Shane’s got his hands all over Ryan, is leaning over him, nearly dipping Ryan in a valiant effort to touch all of him at once. Shane’s not rushing to detangle though.

Ryan’s chances of internally combusting are getting higher the longer Shane keeps looking at him with calf eyes and doing nothing about it. He wants to scrabble out of the jumble the two of them have become, but also not. Brushing teeth can wait. _They_ can wait. 

They have so much time.

He tips his head back, inhales.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! My apologies for that, life pulled a triple whammy on moi, but here we are, chugging along again.
> 
> So yeah, coming to an end of an idea is some serious tough titties. The closer to any kind of conclusion we were getting, the more the wpm count was dwindling, until i was going back to reworking every single detail instead of moving forward with the story. Negative vpm's babey!
> 
> In truth i did not want to say goodbye to this story/work. i love this fandom to bits, and thought i should contribute something for all the joy i've gotten out of it. Thank yall who've read and responded despite the flaws and such. ilu ♥
> 
> There you have it, im kicking this chunky boy out, so it's done-done and we can start something new :)


End file.
